


big god, big enough to hold your love

by matchahun



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27976788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchahun/pseuds/matchahun
Summary: Sehun is Hades, Jongin is Persephone, and so goes the myth;
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Oh Sehun
Comments: 25
Kudos: 154
Collections: Honey Boy: Round 1





	1. INTRO (PLEASE READ)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [syzygied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syzygied/gifts).



> hello! this is for the prompt "He never thought he'd meet the God of Death—never mind fall in love with him. But what would everyone say? And was the young god of spring ready to forsake everything to be with him?" (HB1-018) 
> 
> This is another interpretation of the Hades-Persephone myth, I've tweaked it and added in parts, but I hope you like it :))) ALSO shoutout to the mods for being so patient and encouraging and kind!!
> 
> FOR LILY, who is amazing n also the reason this fic is here at all, i love u SO much ♡ ♡ ♡

PLEASE READ OR YOU WILL BE LOST :( please read this all the way through, and probably keep it open in another tab to refer back to 🌸  
  
  
Jongin = Persephone (god of spring)  
Junmyeon = Demeter (god of the harvest), Demeter is also Persephone's mother in the greek mythology.  
Jongdae = Zeus (god of lightning )  
Sehun = Hades (god of the underworld)  
Yixing = Apollo+Helios (god of music, and also the sun part-time)  
Minseok = Artemis (god of hunt, and also the moon part-time)  
Kyungsoo = Hermes (messenger of the gods)  
Baekhyun = Aphrodite (god of love)  
Chanyeol = Hephaestus (god of fire)  
Sunmi = Hestia (god of hearth)  
Irene, Wendy, Seulgi = THE 3 FATES; FATE IS REALLY IMPORTANT, it's basically what will happen no matter what.  
ALSO, MYSTERIES mean temples, actually more like temple-CULTS (fandoms for the gods lol)  
The PANTHEON is both the actual physical structure of the Gods’ throne-room at Olympus, AND the name of the group of gods that reside in it.  
The STYX is the river that flows through the underworld!  
  
  
The way that the gods' powers work in this fic is: more mortal prayers and offerings = more power. Therefore if, for whatever reason, u aren't being prayed to = you lose a lot of power.  
  
I’ve switched around the lore, so in this fic persephone came after aphrodite, hephaestus, etc, etc, and is the youngest but also the first-born. Also I reference the way the Olympians came from the titans, so if u dont know that story, TLDR version: Kronos is the dad of all the olympians and he read a prophecy about how one of his kids was gonna kill him, so everytime his wife (rhea) gave birth he straight up swallowed the kid. But when zeus was born rhea gave him a boulder to eat instead, and so Zeus grew up and released all the other gods from Kronos’ stomach. Also, while Hades was the first to be born, he was the last to leave Kronos' stomach.  
  
I also mention the myths of Orpheus and Pirithous. Orpheus basically came to the underworld when his wife died to get her back, and although it’s against the rules, hades let him go get her on the condition that he doesnt look back at her while he leads them out of hell. But orpheus looks back and is therefore unable to revive his wife rip. Pirithous and Theseus were basically 2 fratbros who after the death of their wives decided they were gonna get some cool new girlfriends, but they also overshot their league by like a MILE because Theseus chose Helen of Sparta and pirithous chose PERSEPHONE. When they went to go get Persephone she was so mad at their audacity that she permanently stuck them to a rock. FUN FACT: hercules couldnt unstick pirithous, but he did save theseus, who apparently left his ass(????) on the rock and came to be known as the assless man ([im not kidding](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pirithous#Rescue))  
  
LASTLY AND MOST IMPORTANTLY:  
  
For those of you that are unfamiliar with the Hades and Persephone myth: basically in the original myth zeus allows hades to kidnap persephone because he knows her mom (Demeter) won't allow hades to marry her. So hades abducts persephone while she's picking flowers on earth and keeps her in his realm. However Demeter finds out and creates a famine so bad that eventually zeus has to urge hades to return persephone. At the last moment however, hades tricks persephone into eating pomegranate seeds from the underworld, thereby binding her to it. As a result persephone spends 6 months of the year in the underworld and the other 6 at Olympus. There are a lot of interpretations of this myth and its characters, but the biggest goal of this fic is to give Persephone (in this case Jongin) more power and agency than she is commonly understood as having.  
  
I also know that Persephone is Demeter and Zeus’ daughter, but since Demeter is played by Junmyeon in this fic, there is no actual birthing involved. Instead Junmyeon finds Persephone (Jongin) as a baby in the fields of Olympus. This fic also uses three different perspectives to tell the tale, the first is Junmyeon, the second is Sehun, and the third is Jongin.  
  
Side note: because of how this fic is written, the language can be a bit.....excessive at times. I know that can be annoying to read, but I’ve tried to make sure that the plot comes across regardless.  
  
OK HAPPY READING!!!♥️  
  



	2. Big Gods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the myth;

**ACT I: Junmyeon**  
  
Demeter: God of Harvest, Grain, and Fertility.  
  
  
Junmyeon is a proud God. He is proud of the stretches of fertile soil that support the thick-branched olive trees, proud of soft earth dyed green with foliage. He is proud of nourishing generations of mortals, of sustaining their bodies and moulding the vessels that carry their souls.  
  
He is proudest though, of Jongin. Of the sweet little boy he found, crowned by golden wisps of wheat in the fields of Olympus. He is proud of aeons spent raising him, tending to him and caring for him so he grows to be a beacon of life-- to be a symbol of Junmyeon’s power, but be separate from it still.  
  
Junmyeon protects him with his heart, splits his duties and his powers, and watches the first-born of Olympus with careful attention. He teaches him of the life within trees and the life within husks of seeds. Teaches him of how the prayers of the mortals furnish his power, bolster the ichor in his veins and fuel his immortality.  
  
Most importantly however, he teaches Jongin of his place on Olympus: firmly under the wing of Junmyeon’s white robes. Protected, shielded.  
  
Jongin matures, bright and playful and quiet under his guardian’s watchful gaze. Even with aeons to his name, and temples to his service, Jongin is doted upon. The youngest of Olympus, the first of several to come, the sweetest. The apple of Junmyeon’s eye.  
  
He grows to be idealistic, to be curious, to love and love and love with a madness that rivals Baekhyun’s. The well goes deeper yet; he is intelligent, he is kind, and when he grows older still, he is _beautiful_. Breathtaking even under the plain wreath circling his forehead.  
  
Junmyeon is proud, but Junmyeon is also wary.  
  
It is because the first-born God has been promised to the first-born Olympian. The betrothal is older than time, when the universe unravelled between Gaia and Ouranos, and when Rhea’s womb nursed the eldest of the Gods. Jongin, is promised to Sehun.  
  
Junmyeon has known this, but never quite believed it will come to fruition. Jongin, who is full of life, who has been raised drenched in Yixing’s light, could never be promised to the sunless sky of the underworld. His heart couldn’t take it--not Jongin, who is flighty and free as a swallow, who loves the world above too dearly to be away from it.  
  
In his hopefulness, Junmyeon is careless. He forgets the impending engagement, and depends irrationally on the good of a universe that has always trended toward destruction. Inevitably, Fate returns to remind him one winter when he passes by the big stone doors of the pantheon, and overhears Sehun speaking with Jongdae.  
  
Jongdae has always treated Sehun as the youngest, for some misplaced reason that escapes Junmyeon entirely. He has always spoken to him with kind tenderness, and treated him with respect that is undeserving of someone who does nothing but lord over the dead. Someone who wants to snatch Jongin away from the world and strip him of his purpose. Someone who wants to cloister him in darkness, away from Junmyeon’s benevolent reach  
  
When Sehun quietly asks his brother for Jongin’s hand, Junmyeon is shocked by his gall. But when he hears Jongdae’s agreement, he is _outraged_ , his fists clench together and his eyes burn gold as power threatens to overrun him.  
  
In a moment’s time however, the storm within him settles as quickly as it had surged.  
  
Junmyeon is shrewd, he knows that to burst through the doors and to snap Sehun’s neck with his fingers will bring Olympus nothing but conflict, will invite nothing but Jongdae’s uninspiring rage. Junmyeon cannot afford such missteps if he is to keep Jongin by his side--and keep him he will. He _must_.  
  
Sleepless nights and sleepless months are nothing to a God, Junmyeon finds. Eternity cannot be measured in years, and where years are obsolete so are days, nights, weeks, months. So Junmeyeon stays awake indefinitely, thinking and plotting with desperate fervour. The Fates are unkind to those that try to escape the clutches of the inevitable, Junmyeon knows. But Junmyeon is a God, and this betrothal is far from a prophecy. He makes up his mind, and calls for the wood nymphs.  
  
Some sacrifices are worth their price, and Jongin will grow best under Junmyeon’s scrupulous care. Nowhere else.  
  
  
{SCENE}  
  
  
It is the way of the Fates perhaps, the three of them omniscient and sinister, because before Junmyeon can do what needs to be done--Jongin is taken. The nymphs Jumyeon had appointed to guard him had been useless in the face of it, helpless when the earth itself had split open beneath Jongin’s feet. Sehun had burst forth from the inky chasm, his chariot obsidian and beastly as it ploughed through the earth. And before their eyes, in a flurry of movement he had pulled Jongin onto the helm, his hold certain and divine as they descended once more.  
  
And so all is lost, and Junmyeon rages. He seals himself away from the world and lets it rot in its chaos, deprives it of fruit and flavor and food. Jongdae begs often, palms against the stone of his temple as he describes the slow, debilitating descent of the mortals.  
  
“We are nothing without them,” he pleads.“Return to Olympus!”  
  
But Junmyeon perseveres, embroiled in anger and fueled by it. The mortals pray endlessly, their wails echoing through his temple as they scream of starvation and of death. Junmyeon lets it wash over him, unheeding. This is but a testament to his power; as Jongin was taken from him, so will humanity be wrenched away from the Gods.  
  
Eventually Jongdae caves, because he is soft of heart and nothing but a pawn in the games of stronger, crueler Gods. He is weak for humanity, weak for the simplicity of their lives and the stupidity of their whims.  
  
He sends Kyungsoo to the underworld to negotiate Jongin’s return. Junmyeon scoffs at the thought, _negotiate_ \--as if Sehun had any right to Jongin in the first place. For all their useless bumbling and diplomacy, Jongin is no closer to him, and the vitriol burns him inside out, eats at his heart. It makes him harsh and uncaring as the world crumbles before him.  
  
The anger has started to melt into anguish when Jongdae comes to visit him again, gasping through his relief as he tells him that Jongin was to be returned to Olympus. And so, finally, Junmyeon releases himself from his sanctum, feet bare and skin aglow with the pained prayers of the mortals.  
  
  
{SCENE}  
  
  
When all is said and done, perhaps here it begins. The restored order of things.  
  
In the golden wheat fields of Olympus, sit two Gods, sharp of jaw and strong of stature. One is upright and volatile, a conduit for the inextinguishable electricity of the sky. The other is at ease, no less upright but far less troubled, separating wheat from chaff with nimble fingers. They seem to be in wait, and even the wind cannot knead the tension from their shoulders.  
  
“He is late, he is always late,” the first one mutters.  
  
His companion reaches for his hands, fingers soft and careful when they coast over his veins. “He is young and easily distracted. But he has always listened, Kyungsoo will bring him.”  
  
“Seasons are different in the underworld Junmyeon-ah, perhaps your little one is changed.”  
  
A pause, and then sharply: “Jongdae. I know Jongin best, better than he knows himself.” His hands come to rest on the stiff God’s chest. “He has been lonely and afraid, would it so kill you to be kind?”  
  
Jongdae turns away, resolute. “Had he not wandered out so far into the fields, had he not been so lost in birdsong, we may have escaped this calamity. The mortals starve, fields laid bare in Yixing’s light. ”  
  
Junmyeon’s eyebrows knot, eyes dangerous, “and you do not think Sehun is to blame for that? That _I_ am to blame for that? For their starvation?”  
  
“Sehun’s burden is heavy, he is alone. He is young-”  
  
“He is not young-- he is aeons older than you! First of the almighty three from Rhea’s womb,” Junmyeon stands in indignation, the wicker chair dissolving into air. “He has taken Jongin from under your nose! Has caged the Light of Olympus away from the reach of earth and air--and you make excuses for him still?”  
  
“He is young of spirit!” Jongdae spits, defensive. A rumble of the clouds accompanies his declaration, “he was the last to emerge from father’s stomach. He is away from any company but that of the dead. Does he not deserve your mercy as well?”  
  
Immediately, the clouds cease their rumbling and his anger dissipates. Junmyeon’s face remains inscrutable, eyes hardened to stone.  
  
Jongdae sighs, weary and resigned. “Sehun is as whimsical as Jongin is--perhaps, you will understand through comparison.” He stands up himself, palms dusting his pristine robes as his seat returns to dust. “He will make mistakes. They best be here on Olympus, and not in Tartarus.”  
  
Jongdae turns, “Jongin has arrived.”  
  
  
  
Junmyeon holds Jongin to his chest, palm cupping the curve of his skull to his sternum when he kneels before him. Jongin doesn’t fit into his hold the way he used to, the shape of him imperceptibly changed. He is broader in Junmyeon’s hold, head held high over the length of his neck.  
  
He is ostensibly changed as well; dressed in black robes that drape across his frame like a depthless shadow. His eyes are still soft and his hands still gentle, but where he seemed to always be lined with sunlight and dipped in gold, he now shone a strange silver. Like the light of Minseok’s chariot, or the glint of a looking-glass.  
  
He is….collected. Neither distraught nor torn as Junmyeon had imagined, and his grace is more calculated than before, liquid and menacing in the darkness of his garb.  
  
“I have missed you so terribly Jongin-ah,” Junmyeon whispers, regardless, mouth to Jongin’s ear. “I have missed you nearly to death. To calamity.”  
  
Jongin curls his arms around him tighter, pulling back to look him in the eye. “It hasn’t been that long has it? Have I been forgotten?”  
  
His eyes are wide and limpid, and Junmyeon’s heart aches. “No of course not. Your place is here.”  
  
When Jongin stands, Junmyeon watches as his eyes briefly meet Jongdae’s, who has silently stood by their reunion, studying it impassively. Jongdae nods at him, a quiet understanding passing between the two. It makes Junmyeon’s skin prickle oddly so he wraps his fingers around Jongin’s arms once more, tugging him away.  
  
“Come. Everyone waits.”  
  
Baekhyun is the first to greet him, fingers wreathed in thin threads of light as they press ambrosia to Jongin’s lips. When the morsel has been pushed into his mouth, Baekhyun pauses, his gaze flying up to Jongin’s as his eyes widen.  
  
“You are changed,” he gasps out, his breath cutting through the syllables.  
  
Jongin is calm when he meets Baekhyun’s eyes, almost expectant. “I am. I was wondering if you’d be able to tell.”  
  
At his admission Baekhyun smiles, but it falters when he catches Junmyeon’s gaze.  
  
“What is this about? How has he changed?”  
  
Baekhyun merely shakes his head, “He has grown. As he was bound to.”  
  
And then Jongin is whisked away, passed between the Gods as they cup his cheeks and run their fingers through his hair. Even in his joy, even in his _relief_ , Junmyeon feels unsettled. He wants to take him away, wants to confine him to one of the Gardens of Olympus so Jongin might never be subject to such cruelty again. He wants to sit him down and ask him. Ask of Sehun, and of the underworld, of how he’s _changed_.  
  
Instead, Junmyeon walks away from the feast, his feet carrying him to his own chambers at the edge of the fields, surrounded by a winding brook of Poseidon’s creation. From the gold parapet that overlooks the bubbling stream, hangs a single wreath, lonely and unremarkable in the absence of its wearer. Junmeyeon lets it snag on his finger, thumb brushing against the dried flowers that hem it. With a single swipe the wreath bursts into life, blooming lilacs and lilies--the purple and white would be glorious against the new wash to Jongin’s skin.  
  
He walks back to the pantheon, cradling the flowers. Upon entering he notices that Jongdae has reappeared, nursing a goblet of something particularly pungent as he converses with Kyungsoo. Jongin sits between Chanyeol and Yixing, watching as Chanyeol fashions him a chain from the spool of light in Yixing’s palm.  
  
“Jongin. Come here.”  
  
Jongin looks startled, eyes shining in the glow of the hearth. He walks to Junmyeon in composed steps as the others look on curiously. Junmyeon is once again disconcerted by his composure, by the new sureness that rests on the mantle of his shoulders.  
  
Still, he is happy, happy to have Jongin back, happy to be released from the relentless, sweltering heat of anger. Delighted to have Jongin close once more as he comes to a stop before him.  
  
“Your wreath,” Junmyeon says, bringing it up so it is level with his eyes.  
  
Jongin gasps, “ _oh!_ I had forgotten.”  
  
Junmyeon smiles, “and I am here to remind you.”  
  
He leans up on his toes to place the wreath as Jongin ducks down to aid the endeavour. The lilies and lilacs jostle the silken curls on Jongin’s head, and it is as lovely as Junmyeon had envisioned. Though the black of Jongin’s clothing is still jarring in the pristine white of Olympus.  
  
His fingers have barely left Jongin’s hair, when the door to the hall flings open with a vengeful crack. Junmyeon’s fists wrap around Jongin’s arms even before he turns to see who the visitor is, dread pooling in his gut as the shadows around them grow unfathomably deeper.  
  
“That is not his crown, I am afraid.”  
  
He feels Jongin’s limbs stiffen beneath his robes, stiffen to an almost unbearable tightness before loosening completely, apprehension receding as rapidly as it came. Junmyeon looks to his face in perplexity, but Jongin’s stare is fixed behind him, undoubtedly on their guest.  
  
It has been a good many aeons since Junmyeon has seen the Lord of the Underworld, and he had been hoping it would be a good many more before he did. But Sehun is here, cloaked in the same black that enfolds Jongin. He glows too, the way stars glow at night, a disjointed silvery shine against the darkness that follows him.  
  
But Junmyeon can see Sehun is troubled, through the thin veneer of conceit and self-righteousness. So he scoffs and pushes Jongin behind him, the colour from his eyes slowly bleeding to a resplendent gold.  
  
“You dare show yourself here?”  
  
Sehun’s answering smile is wry. “Far be it from me to soil the white halls of Olympus with my tread,” his gaze settles over Junmyeon’s shoulder, “I am only here to escort Jongin back to the Underworld.”  
  
Junmyeon seethes, glowing brighter and brighter as his Godly form seizes him. In his periphery Kyungsoo and Minseok draw closer as Jongdae stands. Yixing remains bent over his goblet, eyes stuck on the table, unseeing.  
  
“You are as presumptuous as you are vile, leave,” Junmyeon utters, low and piercing, “leave before I send you to sleep for aeons.”  
  
The threat is not without substance; a thick, jagged staff erupts from Junmyeon’s palm, but Sehun remains unphased.  
  
“There is hardly anything presumptuous about returning something of the underworld back to it.” Sehun’s fingers curve over his heart, sardonic. Then, with a stunning swiftness, he moves before Junmyeon, and leans close to whisper:  
  
“Could it be-” he says, loud enough for only Junmyeon and Jongin to hear, “-that you do not _know_?”  
  
Jongin exhales, the sound tremulous and yearning, and ice creeps over Junmyeon’s heart as he pushes Sehun away. “Tell me,” he demands, disciplining the waver in his voice, “what is it I do not _know_?”  
  
Sehun moves away, eyes searching the room. He glances at where Yixing sits, slouched and defeated. “Yixing knows,” he declares, his gaze flying to Kyungsoo next, “and so does Kyungsoo, the great negotiator. The messenger of the Gods.”  
  
His voice softens again, but it is resounding in the anticipatory quiet of the hall. “You see, Jongin has eaten fruit of the underworld.”  
  
There is silence. A deafening, humbling silence in the pantheon of the Gods. The gold that enshrouds Junmyeon’s form withdraws as the shock blows through him. He turns to Jongin urgently, with quivering hands and beseeching eyes.  
  
“Tell me this is not true. Tell me he is lying, and that you have not.”  
  
But Jongin’s face is awash with remorse, his eyes glimmering sadly under the wreath that Junmyeon had lovingly placed on his head. “But I have. I did not know it then, but now I see. _I have_.”  
  
It is Yixing who speaks after, melodic voice trembling, “immortals who eat from the Underworld, become a part of it. A thing of the dead.” He pauses, takes a weak breath before continuing, “it is true, I have seen it. Jongin has eaten pomegranate from the Garden of Hades.”  
  
A sob rips from Junmyeon’s throat. He watches as Sehun reaches out, the black of his robes melting into the black of Jongin’s as he pulls him to his side with the entitlement of someone for whom the stars have irrevocably aligned. All is quiet again, with the exception of Junmyeon’s cries.  
  
Jongdae’s palm settles over his shoulder, but it is a mockery of comfort in the face of this profound, gaping loss. He watches as Sehun’s fingers stroke over the flowers of Jongin’s wreath, watches his mouth move when he repeats, “this is not his crown.”  
  
Junmyeon watches on, as the lilacs and the lilies shrivel, turning into brilliant crystals of stygian ice, watches as the wreath turns into a circlet, rubies dripping over Jongin’s brow. Something about the discordance of the sight, the sheer _wrongness_ of it, gives him the foothold he needs to speak.  
  
“If Jongin is taken once more, I shall create a famine to end all humanity. No crop shall ripen and no seed shall sprout, the earth will be littered with carcasses and animal husks. There will be no mortals left to pray, and no cattle to sacrifice. I swear by it.”  
  
Jongdae growls over his shoulder, lightning cracking distantly. The other Gods grow apprehensive and the room becomes choked with the dense miasma of power.  
  
For the first time since he entered, Sehun looks unsure, fingers still wrapped around Jongin’s forearm.  
  
“You cannot do this,” he warns, “he is of the Underworld now.”  
  
Junmyeon stands, fists at his side. “I do not care. I will do as I have sworn.”  
  
Sehun moves so he stands in front of Jongin, just like the hindrance he is. Junmyeon scowls, “return him to me Sehun, lest Hell be overrun with the souls of blameless mortals.”  
  
Sehun shakes his head, “it cannot be undone. He has eaten fruit from the Gardens of the Underworld, he belongs to it now. The Fates will not allow your meddl-”  
  
“I shall do as I please! As I want-”  
  
“And what of _his_ wants?” Sehun bellows and the room darkens to night, even Sunmi’s hearth sputters and dies.  
  
Before Junmyeon can answer the room bursts into sudden light again, divine and blinding, and when the haze clears, he sees them.  
  
_The Three._  
  
It has been long since the Fates have been on Olympus, long enough that Junmyeon has forgotten them, forgotten the cold stoicism of their visages. Seungkwan sits at the center, fingers entangled in the glowing thread. Seulgi unrolls the yarn from beside her, spindly fingers unwrapping it as Joohyun sits on the other end and separates the thin, twining strands. A single pair of gold scissors, sharpened to a gleaming shine, rests on Joohyun’s lap.  
  
Seungkwan speaks first, and the sweet cadence of her voice is more eerie than gentle. “You cannot change fate, Junmyeon. Why do you tempt it so?”  
  
“I-”  
  
“Jongin will return to the underworld, it is an easy balance,” Joohyun interrupts, firm and frightful.  
  
Junmyeon swallows his fear, gaze unrepentant when he turns to her. “And what of the famine? What of the catastrophe that is well within my ability to create?”  
  
Seulgi laughs, her hands never fumbling even as her shoulders shake mirthfully, “and what of it? Fate moves as it will.” Then her face turns somber, eyes dark and unseeing, “but so many cut threads, all for your sense of possession?”  
  
Junmyeon does not ponder the question, even as silence befalls the hall. The Fates’ glow candle-like in the continued dark of the room, Junmyeon cannot see Jongin and Sehun anymore, robes blending seamlessly into the dark that surrounds them.  
  
When Joohyun speaks again, the snip of her small gold sheers punctures the quiet before she does. “Jongin _will_ return to Hades. In the heat of summer and the meek chill of autumn, when the mortals store their grains in the coolness of dug-earth, Jongin too, shall be in the Underworld. And in the winter and spring, when they sow their seeds and place their trust in fertile soil, he shall come back to Olympus. A gift of Spring.”  
  
Before Junmyeon can object, Seungkwan speaks, “it is the will of the universe, it cannot be undone, and it cannot be altered. You have _all_ played your parts, so do not shy from the consequences now.”  
  
The image of the three trembles, in the manner a mirage does upon close inspection, and just when it has nearly dissolved, Seulgi says, “Junmyeon, you cannot decide another’s due. Certainly not when it has been ascertained since before your creation.”  
  
  
{SCENE}  
  
  
Later, hours or minutes or days or weeks later, Jumyeon seeks Yixing. In his own chambers, time moves strangely, warped by his grief and by his fury at the universe. The brook bubbles along uncaringly, and Junmyeon feels utterly alone in his tragedy.  
  
He finds Yixing at sunset, as he descends from his chariot after the sky has faded from orange to violet, and Minseok’s chariot has taken its place above. Yixing’s smile is expectant, but it is also marred with guilt.  
  
“I thought you would come.”  
  
Junmyeon nods, “then you might have also thought of what I’d ask?”  
  
Yixing sighs, “I could not intervene Junmyeon. To eat the fruit was Jongin’s decision, a choice he had to make--even if unknowingly. His destiny has cleaved from yours, and you are powerless to stop it.”  
  
Junmyeon waits for the anger to flare within him, but feels only a swelling emptiness. “I suppose you are right. But what of Jongin then?”  
  
Yixing inhales, and when he returns Junmyeon’s gaze, it is more honest than Junmyeon has ever seen it. “Sehun is not an unworthy consort. He is mighty, he is judicious, and his temper has rarely overwhelmed him. If he does not already, he will love Jongin as he is meant to be loved. It would be wise to leave them be.”  
  
His palm comes to rest over Junmyeon’s, “all will be well.”  
  
When Minseok’s chariot is higher still, Junmyeon looks for Baekhyun.  
  
He finds him by the sun-dial erected in his honour. The marble spire at the center of it is as useful as it is glorious. From there Baekhyun can watch the mortals, watch them fall in love and fumble through it, watch them lose themselves to pervasive desire.  
  
Yixing’s words still ring in his ears when he asks Baekhyun, “what is it that has changed about Jongin?”  
  
He does not answer immediately, his eyes still fixated on something Junmyeon cannot see. Everything about Baekhyun is languid and beguiling. There are long, fine chains that run up and down his arms, along the span of his collarbones, gleaming like stoppered sunlight against the smoothness of his skin. Jumyeon knows Chanyeol crafted the chains painstakingly over aeons, and so Baekhyun wears them with pride, with unwavering relish.  
  
Usually the thought invites wonder, but tonight the chains remind Junmyeon of the crown Sehun had placed on Jongin’s head. A spray of stars on his brow, a _claim_.  
  
“Baekhyun,” Junmyeon repeats, “tell me what was changed.”  
  
“Jongin is in love, Junmyeon.” Baekhyun turns to him, eyes almost luminous, “and he is loved in return.”  
  
  
  
  
**ACT II: Sehun**  
  
Hades: God of the Dead, King of the Underworld  
  
  
Sehun first learns of Jongin while he lurks by the Mysteries, observing the mortals make yet another useless sacrifice in the name of promised immortality. He watches as the priest guts a goat at the altar, moaning prayers with a self-importance that makes Sehun laugh.  
  
He is terribly unimpressed by such shows of piety; the only certainty in a mortal’s life is death, and they would do well to remember it. He turns when the blood begins to run down the steps, lurid against the marble. Sehun is about to leave, to melt into the shadows, when the priest announces,  
  
“And now we carve a sheep, in the name of he who is precious to Junmyeon.” He plunges the knife into the bleating animal's heart before he continues, “an animal as pristine as his virtue, and with wool as warm as his kind heart. For Jongin, the light of Olympus, who will visit with the flowers of spring and bless us with a plentiful harvest, and eternal youth.”  
  
_Jongin._  
  
  
  
When Sehun first lays eyes on Jongin, he forgets his own name.  
  
The first-born of Olympus is promised to him, and that is a delicious, benevolent truth. But Sehun had not expected to be quite so blessed.  
  
He watches the man, long and graceful as he is, roam the fields and forests on the foothills of a young Volcano. The earth is fertile here, animals virile, and the colours so vivid they make Sehun’s eyes pulse. And still somehow, they melt to grey in comparison to the creature before him.  
  
He leaves to see his brother immediately, his heart alive, his fingers trembling. An eternity with Jongin, with _Jongin_ , it is a wondrous, joyous thought. It is the kindest the Fates have been to him, and he will never forget it.  
  
Jongdae is alone in the pantheon when Sehun arrives, which is just as well. As it were, Sehun has neither the patience, nor the presence of mind to joust with Junmyeon, or fend off Baekhyun. He rushes to his brother’s throne, fingers pressed to his knuckles in a rare show of reverence.  
  
“You must let me have him,” Sehun gasps, “I will love him for all my days, every single one of them as they stretch into forever.”  
  
Jongdae looks puzzled, no doubt awestruck at his uncharacteristically impassioned brother. “Of whom do you speak?”  
  
“Jongin,” the name spills from his lips like a prayer, “of course.”  
  
Jongdae’s eyes glimmer with understanding--and then, with mischief. “What if he will not have _you_?”  
  
Sehun must look so hopeful, he imagines it would be impossible not to jest. “Then I will court him, for all the aeons until he will. I shall be loyal and respectful and l-”  
  
Jongdae laughs, “ _I know_ , I know you will be. It is not me you need to convince.”  
  
Sehun takes a breath, sweet and spirited. “Give me your blessings Jongdae. If he were to want me in return, promise that you will let us have each other. Swear by it.”  
  
Jongdae does not delay, eyes sincere. “I swear by Gaia, by Ouranos, and by the Three.”  
  
Sehun exhales, collapses so his head rests against Jongdae’s knees. “Why did you not tell me of him?”  
  
Jongdae shrugs, “how have you not already known?”  
  
“His mysteries, his temples--does he share them with Junmyeon?”  
  
Jongdae nods, “their duties are much the same, their blessings too. They are separated in form, but not in purpose.”  
  
Sehun frowns, “but he is more than that. More than a second offering at the altar of Junmyeon’s temple.”  
  
Jongdae’s lip curls, amused. “If this is how profoundly you feel after a short glance, I fear for what you will become in the aeons to come.”  
  
Sehun flusters, “that is not what--Jongdae. Do not mock me.”  
  
Jongdae laughs again, the sound bursting from his chest like the crack of lightning.  
  
When his laughter has receded, Sehun asks: “do you think he is too young?”  
  
Jongdae’s brow twists, “my dear brother, _you_ are too young. The monotony of the Underworld has robbed you of the aeons we have all lived. Time does not pass when every hour is the same.”  
  
Sehun saddens at the thought, wilts at the truth of it. Jongdae continues, “he may even be older than you, in the stories he has lived and the lives he has seen.” Jongdae turns to him then, his hands reaching for Sehun’s, “it matters not. You are both immortal--be together until you forget your aeons apart.”  
  
  
{SCENE}  
  
  
When Sehun had first emerged from the pit of his father’s viscera, he had loved the mortal realm. So he had been devastated, when he drew his lot before the Fates and received the underworld as his dominion. As he walked along the brink of Tartarus for the first time, he had craved the salt of earthly seas and the sweetness of its seasons. As the aeons followed, the yearning consumed him whole, his spirit succumbed and his power waned as he lost sight of his duty.  
  
It was then that the Fates had come to him, Joohyun’s eyes kind as she surveyed his decay. Seulgi had trapped his fingers between her own and said,  
  
“It is not that you are destined to rule the underworld dear boy, there are greater things in store for you yet.”  
  
He never quite understood what she meant--and if there was truth to it, it had yet to come to fruition. But he had sought comfort, and it had been given to him.  
  
As his anguish had receded, he discovered his purpose anew. He understood that he stood at the center of a balance, life to death, death to life. Sehun only enabled the will of the universe: what had been taken, must so be returned. Those who commit misdeeds, shall so collect their punishment, and those who have been kind and valorous, are accordingly rewarded.  
  
At the root of it, his duty is simple and Sehun is faultless.  
  
Still, now that he has seen Jongin, he is disturbed by it. If he is promised to Jongin--for if Jongin is promised to him, he is promised to Jongin as well--then he shall feel dirtied and macabre in the face of Jongin's light.  
  
It stings to think that what has been a gift to him, may be the greatest burden to ever befall Jongin. But Fate is neither wily nor forgiving, it simply is; and if Jongin truly belongs to him and to this realm, then that is where the aeons will find him. Sehun can only promise his own patience.  
  
-  
  
But Sehun should have known that he would not be allowed to wait or wonder. After all, what is his patience in the face of Fate’s eagerness.  
  
When the night is deeper still, his hearth bursts to life, small embers thrashing against the iron grate. There is only one God who would come to meet him this way, and so late into the hour, when even the souls of the underworld are lulled to stupor. Sehun moves the wrought iron aside cautiously--though he is not opposed to it, he had not nearly expected his sister to visit.  
  
Sunmi bursts forth from the flames, robes long and white and unmarred by the ash that drifts from her coal-black hair.  
  
When she stands, her usually warm eyes are frenetic, hands brushing her hair indignantly away.  
  
“You must take Jongin!”  
  
Sehun is taken aback. It is no surprise that she knows, she is older than all of them, mighty and merry and favored by the Fates. But he has never seen her so harrowed, fingers tight around Sehun’s own, her arms tensed with urgency.  
  
“I cannot--I will not-”  
  
“ _No,_ you misunderstand me,“ she cries. “Junmyeon will keep him, he will keep him at any cost-- _at any cost_ , Sehun!”  
  
And then it dawns on him. “What do you know? What is it you have heard?”  
  
Sunmi swallows, collects herself, and begins recounting:  
  
“At dusk, I had been sitting by Junmyeon’s chambers, with my calves dipped in Poseidon’s brook. I heard him calling for someone, and for a moment I mistakenly believed it was me. It wasn’t however, and when I was close enough that only a film of silk separated us, I heard him. He had been telling the dryad he had summoned that he was going to--g-going t-”  
  
Her voice trembles, and her eyes are terrified when she looks at him. Sehun can barely contain himself, blue frost settling on his fingertips as his power grows restless.  
  
“What? What was he going to do?”  
  
Sunmi inhales, “he wishes to turn Jongin to a tree. A sturdy, slender Olive, so he may watch him forever. So they may never part, and so Jongin may continue to _grow_ in his care.”  
  
When Sehun swallows he feels as though the skull of a Minotaur is rammed in his throat. A sickness spreads from his chest, and perhaps it is anger, but Sehun can hardly distinguish it from the dread that grips him.  
  
“What would you have me do? I cannot take him from Olympus--how am I to feel anything but this wretched helplessness?”  
  
Sunmi shakes her head, palm reaching to hold his cheek. “Tomorrow he will be amongst the mortals, in their world. There will be nymphs to protect him, but you are a God, Sehun. If Fate had so wanted him to be branch and bark, it would not have sent me to you.”  
  
  
{SCENE}  
  
  
When Sehun first holds Jongin, it is a brutal, vicious hold. There is no tenderness, and as Jongin digs his nails into his forearms, Sehun realizes that this is the first time he has touched Sehun too.  
  
When the chariot descends upon the Garden of Hades, Jongin wrestles himself away from Sehun with a force that sends him stumbling. He is still quick to twist around, eyes narrowed to slits and lips curled to a vicious snarl.  
  
“How dare you?”  
  
Sehun has never seen Jongin like this, and for all his musings, he’s never thought to picture an angry Jongin. Sehun has only ever dreamt of him as sweet and sublime, and now he understands the utter vacancy of his thinking.  
  
“Return me to the meadows this instant!” Jongin spits.  
  
The Jongin that stands before him is livid, fists clenched and jaw pulled to a pinched harshness. He looks breathtakingly powerful, and Sehun realizes that all his misgivings have been for nought. Jongin looks like he belongs _here_ , with the sable sky mounted on his shoulders and heat in gaze.  
  
“I cannot do that, I am afraid,” Sehun answers, wary.  
  
Jongin seems to grow impossibly more incensed, eyes bleeding into a honeyed brown. “If you are a God, then so am I. Return me at once.”  
  
And _this_ , this is good. Sehun cannot wait to sink his teeth into it. Now he sees the part Junmyeon had to play in Jongin’s upbringing.  
  
“Or? Or what will you do, Jongin? What _is_ there for you to do?”  
  
Jongin is silent, expression dark and obstinate. Sehun continues, “you are in danger dear Light of Olympus. For now, you will remain in my realm.”  
  
Jongin’s eyes flash when Sehun uses his title, but otherwise he studies him with the same cold distaste. “You will not tell me the nature of this danger?”  
  
Sehun considers it, briefly, considers telling Jongin of what Junmyeon had planned to do. But Jongin’s eyes are earnest, and his loyalties are not so easily swayed. Even if Sehun swore by it, Jongin would not believe him.  
  
“Spring is near, the Fates shall not let you do this,” Jongin says moments later when Sehun does not answer him.  
  
Sehun’s smile is sharp, “and if they do? Will you stay then?”  
  
  
  
A week passes--the hours blur together, everything does. Sehun is only aware of himself, and of Jongin. They do not talk, they do not laugh or jest. Often however, they sit in the gardens together, eyes studying the fruits that drip from the trees like jewels.  
  
Jongin is quiet and contemplative, and Sehun was simple to think that he would learn more about him in this time. Jongin keeps to himself, and although he is hardly ever free of Sehun’s insistent company, he behaves as if he were alone.  
  
He never eats, his refusal staunch and unwavering even when sehun offers him wine-red cherries, sweet and swollen and straight from the branch. Instead Jongin mumbles prayers under his breath, and continues to ignore him.  
  
“Why do you not talk to me?”  
  
He feels pathetic, the question too close to a plea for his pride to bear. Though Sehun had not expected Jongin to be particularly forthcoming after being (for lack of better word--) abducted, he had hoped to soften him with his hospitality.  
  
You see: Sehun has been lonely, and that is another truth that will never leave his lips or the hollow of his heart. Despite his quietude, Sehun has grown to depend on Jongin and his presence; but as the days wear on, Jongin remains as silent and cold as a marble column. Sehun finds that it is lonelier yet, to be lonely in the company of another.  
  
Jongin does not answer, so Sehun continues, “have I been an unkind host? Have I-”  
  
“Do not speak to me of unkindness, Sehun,” Jongin interrupts, and even through the terseness, Sehun receives his own name in Jongin’s voice as if it were a hymn.  
  
“I have told you before, and I will tell you again: you are here because you were in danger.”  
  
Jongin turns sharply to assess Sehun. His white robes bellow around him, an unsullied light in this perpetual dusk. “But you will not tell me of what danger. I am not inclined to believe you.”  
  
“Then don’t. It makes no difference,” Sehun shrugs.  
  
Jongin laughs derisively, “and you wonder why I won’t speak to you. There is nothing to say.”  
  
Sehun shakes his head, “we have much in common, but if you do not care to know-”  
  
“I know how you feel about my guardian,” Jongin interrupts.  
  
Sehun’s brow furrows, “about Junmyeon?”  
  
“Look at you, a picture of innocence,” Jongin scoffs. “ _Yes_ Junmyeon. He has told me of how you seek to strip him of his power, to ruin him.”  
  
Sehun has to laugh, “if it is his word against mine, there is no use defending my honour. You would not believe me.”  
  
Jongin studies him cooly, “and so you will not try?”  
  
“To what end? Are you keen to believe that Junmyeon has lied to you?”  
  
“If it is the truth, yes.”  
  
Sehun laughs again, sharper than before, “you are as noble as you are beautiful, then. And more naive than both combined.”  
  
“I know of the betrothal as well.”  
  
Sehun’s heart stutters, then begins beating to a wild rhythm. “What?”  
  
“I know I am promised to you. And I think you force your hand by keeping me here.”  
  
Sehun’s eyes widen, before he composes himself once more. “If it is prophesied, it will be. I cannot force it.”  
  
“Then let me return to Olympus,” Jongin draws himself to his full height. He is tall, and statuesque, and Sehun is terribly taken by him. “If it is to be, it will be.”  
  
Sehun sighs. Let it be known that of all creatures, it is the immortals who circle back to the same conflicts most often. “I cannot do that Jongin, because that is not why you are kept here.”  
  
“Your reluctance to elaborate upon your own lie is astounding. It is still a lie-”  
  
“IT IS NOT A LIE!”  
  
It erupts from Sehun, loud and ominous like loose boulders rolling from a cliff. He inhales, eyes flashing silver before returning to black. “Do not let my absence from Olympus fool you. I have sterner morals than half the pantheon you crave so badly to return to.”  
  
Jongin looks upon him with wide eyes, and then softly says, “you speak of morals, is it not unprincipled to keep me here? It will be spring soon, it is my duty--”  
  
“Your duty? Or Junmyeon’s?”  
  
Jongin’s brow crumples in question, “what do you mean?”  
  
“You have been taught that I am selfish with power--but what about him? He has given you no gift that is separate from his own. No boon, blessing, or temple.”  
  
Sehun steps closer to Jongin, close enough that his breath fans against Jongin’s cheek. “All that distinguishes you from him is your betrothal to _me_.”  
  
Jongin squares his shoulders, from so close he is a vision of gold and ivory. “And all that distinguishes you from the three-headed mutt you keep by your feet, is your presumptuousness,” he spits.  
  
When he leaves, walking to the farthest end of the garden under thinly-branched pomegranate trees, Sehun is nearly driven mad with longing. He realizes there is little he would treasure more than being held in high regard by Jongin.  
  
  
{SCENE}  
  
  
When his need to talk to Jongin overwhelms all else, Sehun invites him to the Court of Judgement.  
  
He finds Jongin in the gardens, where he often loiters. He is seated under the shade of an apricot tree, prying pieces of custard-apple from its rind, but not eating a single bite.  
  
“Would you like to see the judgement of souls?”  
  
Jongin only continues to pluck seeds from fruit, “that is not my duty.”  
  
Sehun leans on the tree opposite, already weary. “Pray tell, what _is_ your duty?”  
  
Jongin’s eyes meet his own, “let me leave, so I may show you.”  
  
“Spring will come without you, and that is a truth you refuse to entertain,” Sehun dismisses. “Junmyeon holds enough power to bring it on his own--as he did for aeons before you.”  
  
Jongin turns to him, gaze steely. “What joy does it bring you to address me this way? To undermine my power?”  
  
Sehun is immediately contrite, “I do not mean to undermine you. I believe, beyond any other truth, that you are worth more.”  
  
“And so you take me to the Court of Judgment? To share your burden?” Jongin studies him with tired eyes, calm and lucid. “Is that my worth, Sehun? Must it always be decided by another?”  
  
The question is baring, and Sehun is flooded with equal amounts of shame and protectiveness. He quiets because--after all--he is in no position to offer solace. When he does speak again, it is with utmost sincerity.  
  
“Your duty is your own. I apologize for I have overstepped gravely.” He glances at Jongin, whose face remains smooth as stone. “I would like you to come to court for the gift of your company, nothing else. Will you come?”  
  
Jongin’s brow slants in slight amusement, and Sehun feels himself tremble with warmth. “I have spoken to you fewer times than the number of claws on a crow’s foot. Is this the company you crave so dearly?”  
  
Sehun’s gaze is unwavering when he retorts, “and if it is?”  
  
  
The Court of Judgement is little more than four obsidian pillars and a singular obsidian bench. The land around it is a desert, utterly desolate and deprived, and even the dim glow of the fiery pits beyond the horizon cannot warm the empty space. Sehun has only ever known this throne, though it has never resembled one until Jongin sat on it, regal and beautiful and a beacon of light in the untamed sands.  
  
“You will have to change your robes.”  
  
Jongin startles, eyes still roving the pillars and the sparse detail of the landscape, “why? How does it matter to the dead what I wear?”  
  
“They will see you and think they have found Elysium. They will see you and believe, beyond doubt or shame, that they have earned a fair and favorable passage.”  
  
Jongin does not flush, but his eyes slip away. “I do suppose the white may be a bit outlandish,” he admits.  
  
Sehun nods, palm reaching tentatively forward, slow enough that Jongin could still refuse should he choose to. But Jongin looks away once more, eyelashes casting frayed shadows on his cheeks.  
  
Sehun lets his palm curl around the cusp of his shoulder, and it is as firm and round as it looks. Jongin is unbearably warm under the thin cotton of his robes, and when Sehun’s fingers slip away the material slowly begins bleeding into the black coarseness of Sehun’s garb.  
  
When he sees Jongin in the rich colour of his realm, he is reborn. Perhaps he will always remember his aeons as the ones that preceded this moment, and the ones that followed. It _must_ be fate, for Jongin to look so powerful and so right in the colours of Sehun’s realm, for his skin to glow like the sun above, and for the black to fold around his frame in such a fond embrace.  
  
Jongin let’s his fingers brush against the drooping sleeves, his touch careful. “I was foolish to think it would be heavier somehow.”  
  
Sehun tilts his head forward, “and I was foolish to think that a change of attire would suffice.”  
  
Jongin snorts, “I am here. Your flattery is needless.”  
  
“You only invite more when you believe I say it with any intention besides simply having you know.”  
  
Jongin turns to sit on the obsidian slab, feet folded beneath him. “I am held here against my will, Sehun. I invite nothing, and I can deny nothing. You will do well to remember that.”  
  
“I never intended to keep you this way,” Sehun sits next to him, guilt crawling in the pit of his stomach. “If I swear by my reasons, would you believe me then?”  
  
Jongin studies him for a moment, and then: “if there is anything I would like to invite, it is your honesty.”  
  
“Then I swear by the three, by my brothers and sisters, and by the styx. I swear by it when I say that you were in danger, danger so frightful that it mattered little that you are immortal.”  
  
Jongin is silent for a moment, eyes surveying the horizon as if he expected the styx to come flooding over the lip of the cliff. But nothing changes--and nothing will, because Sehun has never lied to him. Not once.  
  
Jongin returns his gaze then, even and equal. “Then I suppose for now I am to stay. And be grateful for your protection.”  
  
Sehun’s eyes widen impossibly, “you will not ask me of what danger?”  
  
Jongin turns fully to look at him, and the weight of his attention is intoxicating. “Would you tell me?”  
  
For the first time, the question holds no malice, it is simply curious. Testing.  
  
Sehun shakes his head, “no.”  
  
“Then I will not waste my breath, as infinite as it is.”  
  
Sehun does not know for how long they sit in the quiet of the desert, in all his aeons he has never realized how silent it can be. Jongin’s eyes do not shift from where they gaze fixedly at the horizon, and Sehun is nearly flattered by his determination to avoid him. He has learnt that in order to ignore something so severely, you must be painfully aware of it.  
  
“Sometimes there are no souls to counsel, and no sinners to chastise. The dessert is unmoved,” Sehun supplies.  
  
Jongin twitches when he speaks, caught unaware. Still, he answers, “but there is no shortage of death. Such idle hours are unbecoming of you.”  
  
“I am not always needed; they are simply herded to the fate of their design. The Court is for the dubious, for those who have been dutiful but still dangerous. Those the universe cannot place.”  
  
Jongin looks at him, eyes boring into Sehun’s. “There is power in that, I think. In being dubious, in deluding the fates.”  
  
Sehun acquiesces, “they do what even the immortals cannot.”  
  
“Can’t we?” Jongin whispers.  
  
Sehun turns to him, entirely convinced of the fondness of his own gaze. “For a God so sheltered, you are quite impertinent.”  
  
“You know nothing of what I am,” Jongin retorts, but he lacks his usual venom.  
  
Sehun is arrested by how close he is, limbs unwound and his shoulder nearly brushing Sehun’s. It is comfortable, and it gives Sehun the courage to ask: “would you tell me then? Who you are?”  
  
Jongin’s lips part to answer, soft and full, but he is interrupted by a sharp shift in the winds. A spray of sand blows through the court and Sehun stiffens.  
  
“Someone is here. Someone who should not be.”  
  
“What do you mean-”  
  
But Jongin’s question is cut by the sound of a lyre, haunting and beguiling. The melody is sad, wrought with a yearning so deep that Sehun’s own heart clenches. The sands grow more turbulent, tossing across the desert as if responding to the longing of the song.  
  
Sehun inhales, his palm unconsciously slipping over Jongin’s knee, and his shoulders edging in front of his. Jongin twitches slightly but Sehun pays it no mind, eyes stuck on the shape emerging from behind the veil of flying sand.  
  
The sand continues to shift, moving around them violently, though not a single grain grazes the pair. Sehun watches in amazement as the figure soldiers forward, hands holding a glinting lyre to himself. The song crescendos, mournful and utterly alone in the sounds of the wind.  
  
Eventually his curiosity gets the better of him so Sehun waves his palm, and the movement of the sands abates sharply. In the aftermath of the chaos, Sehun is shocked to find that their guest is but a man-- a mere mortal.  
  
And he is still _alive_ , heart pumping steadily in his chest and ribs heaving laborious breaths.  
  
Sehun is yet to collect his bearings, when Jongin gasps, “it cannot be! You are Orpheus, disciple of Yixing in your youth. Blessed by him at the lyre.”  
  
Sehun has not been to Olympus in aeons, and what happens between the other Gods is of little interest to him. He wonders briefly, if this is some plot of Junmyeon’s making.  
  
But Orpheus laughs, and it is clean of insidious intent. Instead it is rueful, hollow. “Surely I am in my youth still, my Lord. Though, I must admit, my grief has aged me.”  
  
Sehun opens his mouth to answer, but Jongin speaks before he does. “Why is your song so sad?”  
  
Jongin’s voice is gentle, eyes soft with curiosity and concern. Sehun decides not to speak until spoken to.  
  
“I have lost my lover, Eurydice. She is here in your realm, my Lord.” He looks to Sehun now, plaintive.  
  
Sehun’s sigh is immediate, it is an age-old tale; humans and their inability to accept what the universe has taken from them. “I cannot return her to you, Orpheus,” he says, resigned.  
  
Orpheus crumbles, the sound of his anguish raw and guttural as it is ripped from him. “But _please_ , you must consider it. I am nothing without Eurydice, does my presence here not convince you of my plight? Perhaps, if I played for you once more.”  
  
Sehun makes to repeat himself, but is startled by the warmth of Jongin’s hand covering his own. When he looks at him, he finds Jongin shaking his head, eyes solemn.“Let him play,” he whispers.  
  
And so Orpheus begins his song anew, the same melancholic, lamenting tune from moments before. He plucks the strings of the lyre with a practiced grace, with a dexterity that belies the divine nature of his talent. Sehun’s heart twists in his chest once more, the sadness wrapping around it tighter and tighter until he feels suffocated by it.  
  
When the song is over, all three of them wilt under the weight of boundless grief. Sehun is still collecting himself, gaze lost on the obsidian beneath his feet, when Jongin speaks.  
  
“Won’t you allow their reunion? He has endured so much, won’t you let him have her?” He says it from unbearably close, breath tickling the shell of Sehun’s ear when he whispers.  
  
When Sehun turns to him, Jongin’s cheeks are wet and his eyes are a riveting hazel through the prism of his tears. Any words Sehun thought to speak are stolen from him, and for a moment there is only silence. Orpheus sobs pitifully at the far end of the pavilion, hunched over his lyre which still glows in the dim light.  
  
Sehun turns away.  
  
For the first time since he gave himself to this reign, he is torn. And perhaps, this is what love is, this is what it does. Sehun is not so swayed by Opheus’ grief; for all that is lost, grief is a natural accompaniment. The prayers he heeds daily are wrought with it, infested with promises of immense sacrifice if he were to just _give back_ a lost loved-one.  
  
But Jongin-- _Jongin_ , whose palm still rests over his own, and whose beseeching gaze will haunt him in ways that Orpheus’ song never will. Sehun would do this for him, would bend the rules of the Underworld for Jongin the same way Orpheus has for Eurydice.  
  
“Fine.” Sehun’s voice trembles imperceptibly when he speaks, breath catching when Jongin’s hand curls tighter around his own. “Fine, you may return to the world above with Eurydice.”  
  
Orpheus looks to him with wet eyes, looks elated and suspended in his joy. Sehun can feel Jongin’s gaze on him, but he does not return it.  
  
“But, there is one condition. You may not look upon her until you have left the underworld. She will follow you to the gates, but you must not turn back.”  
  
“Y-Yes-Yes I will not. Thank you, thank you Sehun, most benevolent of Olympians.” He turns to leave, only to spin towards them once more, “and thank you Jongin, the warmest of them.”  
  
When Orpheus has left, his melody lingers. Sehun’s decision sits oddly in his chest, heavy and bewildering. He is snapped from his stupor when Jongin asks: “why must he keep himself from looking at her?”  
  
Sehun looks to the horizon, Jongin’s hand has left his now and he misses its weight. “I have given him control over something only the Fates may change. For such a privilege, I must test his worth. If he guides her to the mortal realm without looking, he has succeeded. But if he turns back, then he is indulgent and weak-willed. The Fates will refuse it.”  
  
Jongin exhales long and slow. Sehun does not look at him. “Is it not enough that he has ventured here? Does that not prove his worth?”  
  
Sehun shakes his head, “it proves that he is worthy of Eurydice’s love, perhaps. It does not prove that he is worthy of such a gift. His heartbreak is not enough to disrupt the balance of the universe.”  
  
“If you know this, why did you give him hope?”  
  
“I do not know it, Jongin. He may yet succeed.”  
  
There is quiet for a moment, and the sky around them dips further into darkness.  
  
“Do you think there is merit? To his journeying here?” Jongin asks.  
  
Sehun ponders it, ponders the bravery of the mortal who ventured to the heart of hell. “Mortals move me. Their capacity to love, to care and hurt so deeply over the loss of it.”  
  
“But isn’t it fruitless? When their lovers are to be torn from them so soon?”  
  
Sehun laughs, “then the immortals should be the most eager of all to be in love. To be with lovers who are never torn away, who never part. And yet we are always at each other’s throats.”  
  
“Do not mock me Sehun.” Jongin huffs, and Sehun is surprised at the change in his demeanor. At the lightness of it ever since Sehun swore before him hours earlier.  
  
“I do not. I merely speak of what I have seen.”  
  
“Is that our fate then? Are we to be lovers who never part?”  
  
Sehun smiles wryly, “are we to be lovers at all?”  
  
Jongin looks away, “if it must be, it will. Lead me back to the gardens.”  
  
Sehun chest heats enough that he nearly offers his arm, before thinking better of it.  
  
  
They return to the shelter of bent trees, leaving behind the sand and heat of the desert. Sehun’s hands twitch restlessly, stiffening at the occasional brush of Jongin’s knuckles against his own. Jongin himself is pensive, and Sehun aches to know what occupies his thoughts.  
  
As if on cue, Jongin turns to him, lips pressed together in consideration. “Do you often return lovers to one another?”  
  
“No.” Sehun cannot recall if he ever had before.  
  
“Was it Orpheus’ song that moved you?”  
  
_Ah_. Perhaps Sehun should be honest. “No, but it moved you and that is enough.”  
  
“Then I have swayed your decision--I have nearly decided for you. Does that not trouble you?”  
  
Sehun inhales, sets his jaw. They are well within the gardens now, so he stops walking abruptly. He mulls over what he's about to say, lips parting and then sealing shut once more.  
  
"What?" Jongin prods.  
  
Sehun looks at him, gaze firm. "You are promised to me, but you are also promised to this realm."  
  
Jongin's face falls, but Sehun continues hastily, "if we are to be together, this will be your purpose too, would it not?"  
  
Jongin's brow knots, "I do not understand."  
  
"I am not giving you my powers, I am giving you your own. It is of little consequence to me that your choices override mine." Sehun pauses, lets the warmth in his chest spill from his lips. "You will rule from beside me Jongin, not below me."  
  
Jongin inhales, and Sehun watches the way his lashes flutter and lips part around his breath. Jongin's eyes gleam in the waning light, sharp.  
  
"This is your realm, it is what the fates have chosen for you," he says, finally.  
  
"And it is mine to give away. The fates have chosen you for me too, have they not?" Sehun retorts and Jongin grants him a slow upturn of his lips, a secret smile tucked into the full curve of his mouth. It leave Sehun breathless and full all at once.  
  
  
Weeks pass, and there are more smiles sent Sehun's way, sweet and demure. It is foolish to assume Jongin will stay, even when Sehun has offered him this realm. But the thought of it refuses to leave him, and he is nearly mindless with hope. Sehun is meticulous, it is something he knows to be true, and although he is not often a host, this quality extends to that as well. So, when Jongin spends hours gazing at the gleaming body of the Styx as it snakes through the land, Sehun is quick to realize.  
  
He has not been to Olympus in longer than he cares to disclose, but Sehun knows of Poseidon’s brook, bubbling and glittering outside of Junmyeon’s chambers. He wonders idly if Jongin misses the sound of rushing water, the joviality of it.  
  
It is an easy decision to make; Sehun wants nothing more than to promise Jongin a home in this realm, one with every old comfort and every new happiness. So one day he steals away, robes blending into the blue of dusk has he makes his way to the river. Sehun's heart is buoyant these days, but it is still a difficult undertaking: to split the body of Styx so that the fractured rivulet flows by the Garden. It is a large gesture, and Sehun almost hopes that Jongin does not see it for what it is, barefaced in its need and adoration.  
  
He makes quick work of it, the Styx listens to him, her cool waters soothed and persuaded by Sehun’s gentle voice. And soon a ribbon of her flows through the garden, the water an icy blue against the green stalks that arch over its banks.  
  
His voice is worn thin by excitement when he leads Jongin further into the garden. Sehun knows Jongin can hear it too, the sound of water rushing past, tossing over stones and lapping over branches. Jongin’s steps quicken, and soon he is the one leading them towards it, feet moving swiftly over the detritus.  
  
When they burst onto the banks of the river, Jongin falls to his knees, his chin tilted up in awe as he lets the water spray over his knuckles. Sehun has never seen him so delighted, at least not in Sehun's company. It is worth all pain and persuasion.  
  
“I did not know this was here--how is it that I have never heard it?”  
  
Sehun crouches next to him, a flush prematurely climbing his nape. “That is because it has not been here. The Styx allowed me to split away one of her strands.”  
  
Jongin looks on in wonder, lips parted and lush in the dappled light. “All this is for me?”  
  
Sehun supposes there is no denying it. “I thought you might miss Poseidon’s brook--the sound of it. The underworld can be dreadfully silent, I know.”  
  
Jongin does not say anything, gaze roving over the clear waters. When he turns to look at Sehun, Sehun has to look away. And yet, his gaze is searing against Sehun’s cheek, eyes nearly luminous with warmth. The hope burns brighter in Sehun's chest.  
  
Sehun tilts his head in a final nod, “It is yours, for however long you will have it, and this realm.”  
  
_And me_ , he does not add.  
  
  
{SCENE}  
  
  
The citadel of Hell glows against the navy sky. The stone is a smooth polished marble, nearly liquid in its gleaming shine. When the gardens become monotonous, Sehun and Jongin sit in the long courtyard, dusted with petals that drift in from the trees outside.  
  
Jongin grows restless as spring draws closer, fingers clutched against the darkness of his robes. The mortals pray only to him and Junmyeon during the Spring season, with immense sacrifices to Jongin’s name and new hymns for his blessings. Sehun can understand his predicament--he is even sympathetic, it must be uncomfortable to feel the surge of power beneath your skin, only to have to keep it trapped and contained.  
  
Jongin’s hands itch for things to do, and Sehun watches as he grips the tender stalk of a young shrub, only to have it unfurl into a cavernous Banyan at the edge of gardens. Sehun thinks of stopping him, but he lets him be. These gardens are his as much as they are Sehun’s.  
  
Still, Jongin is volatile, his eyes constantly gold with power. He does not snap at Sehun, but his gaze is hardened and his tongue is stone. Sehun is almost afraid that they are back where they began, and it is worse now that he has lived through Jongin’s begrudging smiles and warmth of his unangered voice.  
  
But Jongin is neither cold nor hostile, he is simply quietened, and Sehun can almost hear the hum of his power. His skin is luminescent, his feet are bare and quick as a dancer’s, and Sehun aches for him.  
  
He imagines Jongin with a crown made of stygian ice and rubies as red as pomegranate seeds. Imagines Jongin’s immense power being put to use, imagines him holding a purpose that is not a mere imitation of Junmyeon’s. In Sehun’s weakest moments, he simply imagines a hand over his own and a throne that is no longer so cold.  
  
Regardless, hours, days, weeks pass, and Jongin continues to be agitated, the power surging through him in waves. And as fortune would have it, that is when Pirithous and Theseus choose to visit.  
  
Mortal kings and noblemen, Sehun has found, are always oddly inflated. Chests pushed forward, shoulders bunched upwards, and necks fattened under their proud chins. The weight of their own self-importance must be terribly heavy, because both Pirithous and Theseus are flushed to their ears.  
  
Jongin’s time in the underworld has been riddled with visits from living mortals. If the news of Jongin’s absence has reached the mortal realm, Junmyeon must surely be seething, Sehun thinks wryly. He turns to greet the unwelcome visitors, shadows darkening when he sees the way Pirithous’ eyes drag salaciously over Jongin’s form further in the courtyard.  
  
“Pirithous, King of Lapiths, kin of Jongdae. To what do I owe this honour?” He asks icily.  
  
Pirithous laughs, loud and gratuitous, the sound grating in the peace of the gardens.  
  
“I always believed you to be a more proper God, Lord Sehun. But you are no better than the barbarians of the Pantheon I see, caging a creature so alive, here, with all the dead.”  
  
Pirithous says _alive_ in a manner that barely conceals the filth Sehun knows runs in his mind. His hands curl into fists and his lips purse to whistle for Cerberus--  
  
“Who are they?” Jongin’s voice cuts through the crescendo, curious.  
  
Sehun releases the breath he’d been holding. It is for the best. “Pirithous, and his companion Theseus.”  
  
He does not bother conveying their titles, but it ceases to matter when Pirithous rushes to Jongin and drops to his knees. He takes Jongin’s hand within his own, and Sehun is once again left to battle the irritation growing in his bones.  
  
“I am Pirithous, King of Lapiths. Perhaps you know of me through my relation to Lord Jongdae.” He finishes with a wet kiss to Jongin’s knuckles, and Sehun watches as Jongin’s brow furrows in confusion before smoothening to a seamless facade.  
  
“ _Ah_ , of course. What brings you here?” Jongin asks pleasantly. Too pleasantly perhaps, Sehun feels his heart sinks.  
  
“There is uproar in the mortal realm. Spring is late my Lord, and the peasants have little to eat. There is word that you have been taken to the Underworld, kept in the dark with not even an unlit candle to your name.”  
  
Jongin hums for him to continue, his eyes giving nothing away. And Sehun can only watch with a heavy sense of foreboding.  
  
“I thought it would only be right, given my divine heritage, for me to journey here. To rescue you, should you need rescuing.”  
  
Jongin smiles, but it is _wrong_. It is sharp, and entirely unlike any smile Sehun has ever seen on his face.  
  
“Pray tell Pirithous, what might I need to be rescued from?”  
  
Pirithous looks taken aback, confusion spreads over his ruddy face. It is evident he had expected a God that would fawn over him, and not Jongin’s poorly-masked derision.  
  
“Why, Lord Sehun of course.” Pirithous glances toward Sehun, before quickly withdrawing his gaze. “He is cruel and sadistic. It is known that he is an old, unkind, and unhappy God. He only knows to spread grief and to take-”  
  
“Enough.” Jongin says, brooking no argument. Pirithous stops abruptly, gaping with the same surprise that floods Sehun’s face.  
  
“It is dishonorable to speak ill of your host,” Jongin continues cooly.  
  
But the explanation is an obvious pretense and it does nothing to diminish the tension bunched along Pirithous’ ample shoulders.  
  
Jongin straightens, black robes sweeping along the grass as he makes his way towards Sehun. Sehun’s lips part in question, but before he can speak, Jongin turns to Pirithous and his companion once more,  
  
“Won’t you dine with us, noble mortals?” He is so close to Sehun, the warmth of his back nearly against Sehun’s chest. It is evident that he has moved here deliberately, and has placed himself by Sehun for Pirithous to see.  
  
For the first time since their arrival, Theseus speaks: “we cannot dine with Lord Hades, we shall be cursed with illness and the fates’ disfavour.”  
  
Sehun can barely keep the exasperation from his face, this timeless tirade. The fates have never disfavoured him, he might even say they like him most. But mortals and their stories and their superstitions--and their unwavering fear of death. He could laugh. He almost does, a small huff spilling from his lips.  
  
Jongin however, does not seem to find it so humorous. “Fine, then walk with me, you and Pirithous. Sehun shall wait here.”  
  
When he looks at Sehun, his expression is careful. He looks almost expectant, and his face is alight with a warmth that has never been directed at Sehun before. Sehun realizes he is waiting for him to say something.  
  
Sehun has never been a possessive or a proud God. As much as he yearns to stop entertaining these two mortal fools and to have Jongin to himself once more, he does not say so.  
  
When he nods, Jongin looks almost disappointed. But it is gone as quickly as it came, and in the blink of an eye Jongin has turned to stride towards the gardens, and the two mortals follow him out with trepid haste.  
  
  
  
The waiting is the worst of it, and Sehun doesn’t quite know how long he waits in the courtyard. He doubts this is one of Junmyeon’s ploys, he would crumble in Sunmi’s hearth before he enlisted the help of mortals. Still, it has become increasingly more unsettling to imagine these gardens without Jongin.  
  
Sehun sighs, and watches as the shadows of the pillars grow long and deep in response to his own weariness. He sits himself on the marble bench between one of the arches, a rotting pomegranate at his feet.  
  
Eventually, the silence is broken by the sound of Jongin’s footsteps, feet sliding against the marble. When Sehun looks up, he is without his two mortal companions.  
  
“Where are Pirthous and Theseus?”  
  
Jongin does not answer, in fact he gives no indication of having heard Sehun at all. When he sits, it is far closer than Sehun would expect. Far closer than Sehun would ever dare hope for.  
  
Here, in the courtyard that is as silent as a mausoleum with the silvery shine of souls bathing its marble columns, it feels dangerous. Jongin’s breath against his chin feels like the permission to expect, and to want.  
  
But then Jongin says,  
  
“Pirithous asked for my hand.”  
  
Sehun feels his own power glower, eyes fading from black to gray. “That is absurd, he is a mortal.”  
  
Jongin shrugs, and he studies Sehun’s face for a moment before speaking, “it is not unheard of, marriages between Gods and mortal kings.”  
  
There is a storm within Sehun, and he aches to deny Jongin. To name his foolishness for what it is. But Jongin is not wrong.  
  
“Would you want that?” He asks instead, “would you want to be married to a mortal? For the inconsequential length of their lives? To spend your days with _Pirithous_ as age eats away at his insides?”  
  
“Would _you_ allow it?”  
  
The question cuts cleanly through Sehun’s surmounting anger and his world stutters to a stop. He sounds choked when he asks, “y-you want to? You have accepted?”  
  
Suddenly--in the beat of a butterfly's wing, and in the tremulous rise of the rib--Jongin is upon him. Sehun does not understand it for a moment, does not understand the sudden heat over his thighs, or register the warmth of the palms cupping his cheek.  
  
But when he does, the world sputters to a start, jolts so firmly onto its axis that Sehun feels his own power lurch.  
  
“You call me naive, and yet,” Jongin whispers from where he is seated on Sehun’s thighs, and it is heart-stoppingly intimate. “If I am promised to you, would you so willingly give me away to another?”  
  
“If that is what you wanted. I would have you for all the eternities after, would I not?”  
  
Sehun feels dazed, eyes so silver now, that he is sure they shone blue. He puts a name to the storm within him, and it is _affection_. The kind the mortals are entrapped in, the kind that leaves him full beneath his ribs.  
  
Jongin falls over him, face tipping forward so it is squarely above where Sehun has tilted his own back. He smells so sweet, so lovely, and so indulgent as he lets Sehun slip his heavy, heavy arms around his waist.  
  
“Would it not hurt your pride?” Jongin asks, sound caught between their chins.  
  
Sehun exhales, arms bunching into Jongin’s robes to pull him closer. Jongin allows it.  
  
“Not my pride, no.” He looks up into Jongin’s eyes, “my heart perhaps. My spirit.”  
  
Jongin smiles, and it is the truest smile Sehun has seen on his face. He pulls away, sits up with his spine straight, stature demanding, but his palms are still gentle against Sehun’s cheek.  
  
“I will take you Sehun, God of the Dead. It is impossible to know if fate has led me here, or if I have led it, but I hope you will have me.”  
  
Jongin is not bashful--he has no reason to be, of course-- he meets Sehun’s gaze evenly and patiently awaits his answer.  
  
And Sehun--Sehun would never deny him, not when he has been Jongin’s from the very beginning.  
  
  
  
They do not speak of Pirithous again, and when Sehun asks him what happened to the two mortals, Jongin only smiles, slow and secret. He smiles frequently now, accepts Sehun the way he said he would. Sehun hardly knows what to do with himself; his days are overwhelmingly richer, worthwhile, and when they walk through the garden one day, Jongin slips his fingers into Sehun's own. His palms are firm, warm, like mangoes that have been left in the sun too long.  
  
The skies are starrier, the air is sweeter, the days are longer. None of this may be true for certain, but Sehun thinks it must be.  
  
On one such long day, it dawns on Sehun that what he feels for Jongin may be greater in intensity than anything Jongin feels for him. It makes him suddenly anxious--but not because he is afraid that his affections may be unrequited. Instead, Sehun feels almost predatory, as though he has done exactly as Jongin had expected of him at the start: kept him here just to serve his own purpose.  
  
Sehun has never been nervous. There are few occasions to be when you rule over the dead, all their lives laid out before you like unfurled scrolls. But he finds himself feeling that way off-late, heart beating wildly whenever he catches Jongin's eyes, fingers twitching to twine with his, arms heavy with the need to hold him again-- and yet, he finds he cannot hold his gaze, a strange sort of guilt seizing him.  
  
Jongin is quick to catch-on, he is terribly clever, terribly beautiful, and Sehun is terribly taken. But Jongin notices, and suddenly he is guarded as well. Sehun regrets it instantaneously, wishes and wishes that he could conceal his own apprehensions better, because he can see the way Jongin's face ripples with something akin to hurt every time Sehun flinches at his touch.  
  
Despite the unpleasant turn of events, Sehun does not broach the subject and neither does Jongin. And that is how they persist for days on end, sitting far too close to one another in the garden, as Sehun grapples with his guilt and Jongin grapples with his (Sehun is presuming) confusion. Spring starts drawing to its peak, and Jongin's power bleeds steadily into his surroundings, the disquiet between them charged and restless. But it all comes to heel on an exceptionally balmy day as they sit by the little curl of the Styx, Jongin by his side with his fingers sifting through the grass.  
  
The silence reigns unchecked, until Jongin asks, "have you changed your mind? Do you not favor our betrothal any longer?"  
  
And for the first time since Sehun's eyes fell upon him, Jongin looks uncertain. The answer spills from his lips immediately, "no,--I would never--I am thankful to the Fates at every turn of time."  
  
Jongin let's out a huff, wry and disbelieving, "then why do you refuse to look at me?"  
  
Perhaps this is something Sehun will have to become accustomed to, the direct and unafraid questioning. "I am--I am conflicted."  
  
Jongin stiffens, and looks unexpectedly miserable for a moment, "so you _have_ had a change of heart."  
  
"No-- _no_." The urge to reassure the God before him overwhelms all else. "My heart is unchanging, and it is yours."  
  
There is stillness, and Sehun winces. Perhaps he has been too candid, but he cannot think of any way to undo it without lying.  
  
"Then what are you conflicted about?" Jongin speaks from far closer than before, voice as soft as the petals that drift around them.  
  
Sehun inhales, "I still do not think it is safe for you to leave the underworld. But for every moment that I keep you here, perhaps I _am_ forcing my hand-"  
  
Jongin cuts him off with a scoff, "you underestimate me, I am not so easily swayed." He lays back into the grass, eyes studying Sehun. "It takes far more to soften my heart."  
  
For a moment, Sehun let's that ease his worries. He lays back down next to Jongin, the sky an unending blanket above them.  
  
"Is it?"  
  
"Is what?" Jongin asks back, his breath hitting Sehun's ear.  
  
"Your heart softened." Perhaps Sehun is pushing his luck.  
  
Jongin laughs, "very nearly, I think."  
  
Sehun’s jerks, turns to look at him in a flurry of shocked movements. Jongin smiles, eyes glittering with barely concealed mirth.  
  
“You will do well to remember, Lord of the Underworld, that I have _chosen_ you--it is not circumstance, or our inevitable betrothal. The choice is mine.”  
  
And then Jongin kisses him, and the world rearranges itself around them.  
  
Sehun is sure of it; something clicks so firmly into place, that from this moment on, everything is changed. Everything is better. Jongin has the sweetest lips, and they are as soft as Sehun has dared to imagine on occasion. And when Jongin parts them and releases the smallest sound, Sehun feels as though the ground underneath him has given way and swallowed him whole. He licks into Jongin’s mouth fervently, quick and desperate, doesn’t even realize he’s pushed Jongin onto his back, his own shoulders caging him against the damp grass.  
  
When he opens his eyes and pulls away, Jongin is watching him, face open. As his fingers come to stroke Sehun’s hair back, Sehun almost feels undeserving of the tenderness. But he decides it does not matter,  
  
Sehun will let himself have this.  
  
He tilts Jongin’s chin up and kisses him once more, settling over him like dew over petals. Licks into his mouth softly this time, slowly, with the same care with which Jongin cards his fingers through his hair.  
  
  
It becomes easier to kiss Jongin from then on, and Sehun feels like something between them has unwound and settled. Their days spent in the flowering Garden or by Jongin's brook; spread against the grass as Jongin narrates tales from his youth, of times spent in the world above, happy and carefree among mortals.  
  
"I did not think Junmyeon would let you out of his sight," Sehun says, tucking a windblown jasmine behind Jongin's ear. The petals look papery thin against the gold of his hair. Even in this unkempt darkness, Jongin seems to catch the light.  
  
"He was reluctant at first, but as long as I kept the nymphs by my side, I was allowed to wander."  
  
"And what did you see in your wanderings?"  
  
Jongin grins, "the mortals are loud and brash, much like their Gods." He turns to Sehun, fingers reaching out to thread through his own; a pleased shiver runs through Sehun's, he does not think he will ever get accustomed to this easy affection.  
  
Jongin continues, "they fall in love easily, and they value it above all else--it is quite strange."  
  
Sehun hums in agreement, waits for him to continue.  
  
"I fell in love with one many moons ago--a dancer." Jongin's voice is far away.  
  
Sehun leans up onto his elbow and tilts over Jongin, curiosity piqued. "Oh? What became of it?"  
  
"He died," Jongin smiles, accepting, "as mortals do."  
  
"What if he were immortal? Would you have stayed?"  
  
Jongin wrinkles his nose, and turns from his back to his side so he faces Sehun, eyes twinkling at him meaningfully. "I do not think the Fates would allow it."  
  
Sehun lays back once more, let's the peace of the moment pillow him. They lay under an old pomegranate tree, the oldest in the garden. Even on the warmest evenings, the shadows pressing against its thick trunk are cool. The tree is unchanged but its surroundings are not: vines and shrubs and plants choke the Garden. There is no corner left untouched by Jongin’s presence.  
  
"I suppose you're right," Sehun answers, pleased.  
  
  
  
The days pass, water in a stream, and as they approach the height of spring, Jongin's power blooms into itself. The garden is a reflection of it, an explosion of color and vegetation, ripe and green and unmatched in its vivacity. In all of Sehun's aeons in this realm, and in all of his time tending to this garden, it has never been so full--with fruit so heavy it bends boughs, and grass the color of uncut emeralds.  
  
And yet something is odd; there is a sharpness to all of it, jarring and unnatural. Sehun has long suspected something may be amiss in the mortal realm, because there has been a larger influx of souls, all of them wailing songs of starvation and misery.  
  
But he has not thought much of it since he noticed, and it is Jongin who brings it to his attention once more.  
  
“Something is very wrong.” Jongin starts, voice grave.  
  
Sehun turns to him in surprise. They stroll through the outskirts of the garden, the cliff’s edge overlooking the distant pits of punishment. In the faint light, Jongin looks more somber than he has ever been.  
  
“What worries you?”  
  
“It--it is my power,” Jongin hazards a glance at him, only to look away once more. “It is not quite….right.”  
  
Sehun stops walking, and Jongin mirrors him immediately. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I--it’s _too much_ ; it should not be so--.” Jongin cuts himself off, seemingly frustrated, and then: “kiss me.”  
  
Sehun’s brow furls, but Jongin shakes his head and repeats, “kiss me, please.”  
  
It is the easiest request Sehun has ever had to grant, so he does. He lets one arm wrap around Jongin’s waist, while the other reaches to tilt his chin upwards. To Sehun’s inexhaustible delight, this sequence of movements is increasingly familiar now. The kiss is soft and wet, Jongin’s body curves into Sehun’s, palms against his chest and sounds stuck in his throat. Sehun dips lower, shifts his palm up to cup his cheek, and then licks decisively into Jongin’s mouth, determined to chase away whatever worry seems to be plaguing him.  
  
But Jongin pulls away, palms still bunched into Sehun’s robes. “Stop, stop,” he says breathlessly, gaze shifting over Sehun’s shoulder. “Look.”  
  
Sehun turns, the beginnings of apprehension settling onto him, and he is completely unprepared for the sight that awaits him.  
  
Where the ground had been dusty and gray moments ago, now stands a grand Wisteria, awash in a deluge of flowers so heavy and so vibrant, that the tree seemed entirely overwhelmed by it.  
  
It would look outlandish even on Olympus, such was its grandeur.  
  
Sehun has watched as Jongin turns smaller shrubs into large trees before, but he has never summoned such a creation from dust and air. The tree itself looks sinister: too widespread, too imposing, too harsh on the eye.  
  
Sehun exhales, “all this because I kissed you?”  
  
Jongin huffs, cheeks a rosy gold, “I will have you know, your kiss had little to do with it; don’t you see? There is too much power--granted, it is spring, but I have never felt so--. I have never felt it with _such_ intensity before.”  
  
Sehun studies the tree, the bark is sturdy and each petal is perfect.  
  
“There have been more souls lately.” Sehun begins, sombre. “Trickling into the underworld in a steady stream for months. All of them, weeping of a hunger powerful enough to follow them here. The mortals have been praying more, that is the reason for the surge in your power.”  
  
Jongin pulls away from him, “you were insistent-- _insistent_ \--that spring would come without me. And here we are.”  
  
For the first time in months, the edge has returned to his voice. Sehun is hasty to correct him, “and I stand by what I said-- Junmyeon _can_ bring spring on his own--he has simply chosen not too.”  
  
Jongin’s face crumples with confusion, losing its righteousness. “Wh-what? Why would he-?”  
  
Sehun smiles, pulls Jongin close once more, hands easily finding his waist. “It’s because I have taken you from him Jongin; I have stolen you away from his light and his grace. He is furious, and the Gods of the Pantheon have never been merciful in their fury.”  
  
“How do I correct it?” Jongin asks, nose against Sehun’s shoulder.  
  
Sehun looks at the tree once more, vividly purple against the orange glow of the pits. The apprehension sits heavily on his chest.  
  
“You will have to return. You will be asked to.”  
  
  
{SCENE}  
  
  
Sehun knows they do not have much time, he had realized that the minute he had glanced upon the tree. The gods are nothing without mortals and nothing without sacrifice; for all the power that Jongin (and Junmyeon, he is certain) now hold, the other Gods must have begun to feel the absence of their own.  
  
Time crawls slowly in anticipation, he spends each day staring at the outer edge of the garden, in fear of spotting a familiar silhouette. But for the moment there is only peace and Jongin’s arm against his. Everyday Sehun inspects the hedge and the hearth, and everyday there is only undisturbed quiet in the underworld.  
  
Just when his worry has begun to ebb--when he has begun softening in Jongin's warm company, now equal and free--is when calamity strikes. Sehun does not look towards the entrance that day, already convinced of their prolonged peace. But had he looked, he would've seen Kyungsoo's form, would've seen his winged feet and his golden aura.  
  
Jongin sees him first, gasps loudly enough to startle Sehun from his reverie.  
  
"Kyungsoo?" Jongin is already on his way to standing, black robes swishing around him. "Is it really you?"  
  
"Do not tell me you have forgotten my face in your time away," Kyungsoo's voice is as smooth and deep as Sehun remembers it, like spiced wine fermented over years.  
  
But he is not a welcome sight. Sehun can see it in his gaze, his resolve-- Kyungsoo is here to take Jongin back, and he will do so no matter the terms. He looks at Sehun with an unwavering gaze, chin tilted up in anticipation of an angry dismissal.  
  
But Sehun is no jailer, he is nothing but a God in love. He smiles at Kyungsoo, and let's his lips spread wider at Kyungsoo's shocked gaze. "Kyungsoo, it has been long, I hope the aeons have kept you well."  
  
Kyungsoo takes a moment to collect himself, hands gently curling around the fingers Jongin offers him. "I-I have been well. I hope you have been, too."  
  
Kyungsoo is well-traveled, his aeons have been fast and flavored, he has seen much and felt much. That is evident in how quickly he realizes the nature of Jongin and Sehun's companionship. But as shrewd and empathetic as Kyungsoo is, he is not deterred.  
  
"The mortals pass everyday, ribs jutting out along the sides of their slow-beating hearts."  
  
"And Junmyeon? Does he feel no remorse?" Jongin questions urgently.  
  
"He is past all kindness, locked away behind the thick stone of his temple, unheeding."  
  
Sehun does not speak--he has nothing to say. Jongin must go back, it is inevitable, and he wants beyond anything else for Jongin to swear his return to the Underworld, but Sehun would never burden him that way. So, he does not speak.  
  
"If I-" Jongin begins tentatively, gaze directed deliberately away from Sehun. "If I were to return, would Junmyeon free himself and resume his duties?"  
  
Kyungsoo laughs ruefully, and Sehun is almost comforted by how sorry he sounds. "Those are his terms, he will return once you have. He believes that Sehun has kept you here against your will. I see now that the notion is false."  
  
Irrationally, Sehun waits for Jongin to refute it, to deny that he has ever been willing to stay here. But Jongin is silent, eyes fixed on the distance as he thinks.  
  
When the silence has run too long, Kyungsoo probes once more. "Will you be returning with me Jongin?"  
  
Jongin turns back, startled. "I- I must." His eyes meet Sehun's for the first time since Kyungsoo began speaking, "there is no other way."  
  
  
  
Sehun is not proud, and deep down sometimes he thinks that he can _never_ be proud, for he has much to be ashamed of. Jongdae would deny this, so would Sunmi, and Sehun himself does not always believe it; but sometimes his thoughts run awry, and he is _selfish_.  
  
As Jongin converses with Kyungsoo, Sehun’s eyes stray to the pomegranate trees further in the garden. The tree in the center is the oldest, it had already matured at the beginning of Sehun’s realm, and the fruit on its branches capture the very essence of hell. An idea begins to take shape in his mind, half-formed and poisonous--and utterly desperate.  
  
When he turns back, there is a lull in the conversation so Sehun asks, “won’t you both share a meal with me? Before you condemn me to my solitude once more.”  
  
Jongin looks surprised, lips parted as he searches for an answer. Kyungsoo’s response however, is prompt, straightforward.  
  
“You know we cannot eat the food of the underworld,” he says plainly.  
  
Sehun nods once in agreement, “I would not dream of it. I meant for us to dine at one of the gates, with mortal fruit and meat.”  
  
Kyungsoo is still considering it when Jongin speaks, “please Kyungsoo, we cannot be more delayed than we already are.”  
  
Kyungsoo is reluctant, but he sighs and exhales his confirmation as the sky dips further into darkness.  
  
“This way,” Sehun says, gesturing beyond the pomegranate trees.  
  
The path is familiar, it is an indulgence--Sehun had traced it aeons ago when he had felt a terrible loneliness in this realm, and found solace in watching the mortals go about their work. Kyungsoo’s face gives away nothing, but Jongin is openly curious, eyes tracing the tall trees and moss-ridden stones. Sehun leads them well into the forest, the one that lays beyond the garden, farther than anywhere Jongin has ventured in this realm. The path _is_ familiar, but it has been aeons since Sehun last walked it.  
  
He pauses for a moment, and Jongin accidentally walks into his back only to duck away in embarrassment. Sehun feels a phantom twinge of longing, but it is fleeting, he is far too focused on the task at hand to contemplate it further.  
  
“Follow me,” he whispers-- it is redundant, the two other immortals have nowhere else to go. He leads them to a thick curtain of leaves and moss, hanging from two-overlapping branches of neighbouring redwoods. Sehun pulls it aside smoothly to reveal a small cave, the lip barely extending a overground and leading into a yawning darkness.  
  
“What is this? Where are we?” Kyungsoo asks sternly.  
  
“This--,” Sehun smiles, pulls the blanket of moss further to the side, “--is an entrance to the mortal world. Only I can use it, you needn’t worry about souls drifting in and out.”  
  
Kyungsoo, thankfully, does not question him further. The cave is short, it descends steeply into the earth, and then ascends into the mortal realm, their eyes immediately confronted by the light of the Sun.  
  
The air has always been sweeter here, and Sehun inhales deeply. At the mouth of the entrance, is a long table, narrow and made of stone. It is heaped with fruit, wine, goat cheese, olives, yogurt, and slow-roasted meat. Sehun turns to his companions,  
  
“This is for you. The finest offerings from my temples today,” Sehun wanders closer, picks a fig from the pile and places it in his mouth, “please, help yourselves.”  
  
Kyungsoo does not wait to be asked again, he drops hastily onto the stool next to Sehun at the helm of the table and pulls the boar towards him, eyes alight with a fierce hunger. It only confirms what Sehun had suspected—the other Gods are starved of power and of nourishment.  
  
And Junmyeon and Jongin are entirely too full, evidenced by the way Jongin picks at the olives scattered before him. He sits across from Sehun, and the table is narrow in enough that their knees press together. It should be comforting, but it only reminds Sehun of what he will not have soon. His resolve deepens.  
  
Sehun is not hungry, he hardly ever is--the altars of his temples are never empty, stained perpetually with the blood of sacrifice. No matter the season, there is nothing that mortals fear more than death and the retribution that follows it. So Sehun watches his companions eat in silence, his fingers twitch restlessly on his lap, and his wrist pressed against where he’d tucked a single, glossy pomegranate into his sleeve.  
  
After tearing through the boar and three loaves of olive bread, Kyungsoo marches to the mouth of the cave. Awash in sunlight as he watches mortals farm on the hills below. Sehun seizes the moment immediately, hands reaching desperately across the table for Jongin’s wrist.  
  
“Would you--” Sehun inhales sharply when Jongin’s gaze meets his, eyes wide with concern as his other hand drifts gently to wrap over where Sehun is clutching his wrist. Sehun begins again,  
  
“Would you stay here if your return was not so needed?--Would you spend your aeons in the underworld?” Sehun squares his shoulders, “would you stay here with me?”  
  
Jongin eyes widen impossibly further, before settling into something softer-- _kinder_ \--and Sehun feels pathetic and pitied upon, until Jongin says, “of course--it is my fate is it not?”  
  
Sehun shakes his head, but before he can find the words, Jongin is speaking again, “but I would stay even if it was not. There is much to stay for Sehun, an eternity by you is hardly an unpleasant notion.”  
  
And that is all Sehun needs to absolve himself of what he’s about to do. As Jongin looks towards Kyungsoo, faintly flushed, Sehun withdraws his arm and let’s the pomegranate roll soundlessly onto the stone of the table.  
  
It sits there innocuously for a moment, its red coat lurid against the grey stone. Sehun’s heart catches in his throat when Jongin plucks it up absently, studying it for a nerve wracking moment before cracking it into halves with his bare fists. Sehun watches, chest rising and falling tremulously as Jongin pries away seeds gently, tearing the ruby beads away from the fruit, before finally, finally, _finally_ slipping them between his lips.  
  
Sehun looks away.  
  
Kyungsoo is still at the opening of their little alcove, lost in thought. But as Sehun’s gaze settles on him, he suddenly jerks back towards them, as if pulled by an unknown force. His stocky silhouette is backlit by Yixing’s light and his movements doubly urgent and inelegant.  
  
His eyes move frantically, looking first to Sehun, then to Jongin, before finally landing on the partially devoured pomegranate between them. Horror paints Kyungsoo’s features, the air thick with apprehension as Sehun draws a difficult breath and waits for him to speak.  
  
_“What have you done!”_  
  
The voice that emerges from Kyungsoo’s throat is jagged, layered with godly power.  
  
Jongin looks up worriedly, brow furled, “what? What is i-”  
  
“We must leave,” Kyungsoo gasps out, eyes refusing to meet Sehun’s. “Now!”  
  
He heaves Jongin away from his seat, pulling him bodily to the opening of the cave. Sehun knows that it is because Jongin is shocked that he goes so easily. But his eyes stay on Sehun, wide and horrified, as Kyungsoo drags him closer and closer to the point of departure. Sehun watches helplessly, watches as Jongin’s fingers claw futilely at Kyungsoo’s forearm.  
  
“Kyungsoo wait, I have to--Sehun, _Sehun, plea_ \--”  
  
And in a beat of the wings at Kyungsoo’s feet, they are gone. Jongin is taken away in the same manner he was brought here.  
  
Sehun crumbles, head landing by the pomegranate as it glints incriminatingly in the sun.  
  
  
  
  
**ACT III: Jongin**  
  
Jongin: God of the Springtime, Flowers, Vegetation  
  
  
Jongin grows up feeling smothered, like a new bud growing in shade, or the trampled moss by a riverbed. Make no mistake--there is no absence of love--but he realizes early on, that he cannot stray far outside of Junmyeon’s shadow.  
  
But he knows no other life, and the weight of Junmyeon’s love keeps him warm through his youth, so Jongin weathers it patiently and with gratitude. His quiet acceptance hardly lasts however, and eventually he grows to question Junmyeon’s suffocating guardianship. He begins questioning everything actually: his own power, his purpose, the careful distance at which Junmyeon holds himself from the mortals. He questions the quiet friction between the gods--always one spark away from squabble. Jongin even questions the empty throne in the pantheon, marble left cold in the absence of its occupant.  
  
Just past his adolescence, he finds out that he is betrothed to the owner of the empty throne. It is the first time Junmyeon answers any of his questions, crouched over candlelight as Poseidon’s stream chimes from beyond his chambers.  
  
“He is a terrible God, Jongin,” he whispers, acidic. “His purpose is the opposite of yours. He poisons the earth with grief, and lords over those he has stolen away. There is no honour in it.”  
  
Jongin does not question him further.  
  
Aeons later, he asks Jongdae the same question. It is meant with no disrespect, but Jongin has learnt that Junmyeon can be an unreliable source of information. Jongdae seats him on the steps of the Pantheon, both of them painted gold in the light of the skies.  
  
“He is noble and he will love you--even beyond the way Fate has demanded him to. He is generous and rational. It is no curse to be betrothed to him.”  
  
Jongin huffs in disbelief, “then why does he hide like an ugly secret?”  
  
Jongdae sighs, face tilting toward the sunlight, “it is the nature of his realm, he cannot part from his duties often.”  
  
“You will meet him eventually,” Jongdae continues after a moment, “and you will realize he is not the brute Junmyeon has convinced you he is.”  
  
But the first time that Jongin meets Sehun, he _is_ a brute. His hold on Jongin is fierce, and poisoned by a sense of possession. And Jongin is angry, he is angrier than he ever remembers being, tired of being tossed about in the games of older, more sinister Gods.  
  
When he first looks upon Sehun, his heart races with that anger--but it also thrashes against the cage of his ribs in a manner unlike ever before. He had not imagined someone so-- _young?_ The God that stands before him is tall, swimming in shadows. His dark eyes are unbearably warm, unbearably _concerned_ \--  
  
Jongin scoffs.  
  
  
  
Sehun is frustrating, first and foremost. He answers none of Jongin’s questions, and leaves him to swim in the same uncertainty of his youth. Jongin thinks he is pretentious, and that despite his insistence otherwise, Sehun is a God of skewed morals and a cowardly demeanor.  
  
But it seeps into him-- like the green of grass bleeding into cloth, the heat of the skies warming his shoulders--it is slow. Jongin begrudgingly finds that Sehun is _kind_ , he is not a brute--and if he is, he is unlike any brute Jongin has seen before.  
  
It is when Orpheus visits the underworld, that Jongin truly understands this. Jongin can see that Sehun holds his duty above all else, easily dismissing the mortal’s grief. He is straightforward but not unkind, and while Jongin’s heart aches for Orpheus, Sehun remains firm.  
  
But Jongin cannot resist pushing him, testing him. So he requests Sehun to resolve Orpheus’ plight and to relieve him of his pain. He expects Sehun to roar with anger, or admonish him for intervening in matters that do not concern him, but Sehun does no such thing. Instead, he is considerate, carefully devising a task that will let the mortal reunite with his lover.  
  
It does not end there, though Jongin wishes it would--after all, he does not like being wrong. Sehun incorporates Jongin into his duty seamlessly, spends hours explaining the underworld and its workings. He is observant, and the weight of his attention is as soft and light as lambswool, instead of being stifling the way Jongin is accustomed to. He gives Jongin power and liberty--and not just in name, the way Junmeyon had done--but in actuality.  
  
Jongin first puts these powers to use is upon Pirithous’ arrival. When the two mortals interrupt their peace, there is already a great unrest within Jongin. His fingers curl and uncurl restlessly, and his heart beats irregularly in his chest as his power surges through him with no outlet.  
  
Pirithous is the same as many of Jongin’s suitors have been; proud, stupid, and utterly convinced of their own irresistibility. Jongin has not seen anyone but Sehun for months on end, and Pirithous’ entitlement leaves him feeling odd. A sudden affection for Sehun overtakes him, like the curtains concealing it from perception have fallen. He has barely thought of him this way before, but Sehun has _never_ demanded that Jongin return his affections. He is kind, easily humbled, and twice as noble as all the other men who crave Jongin.  
  
And it is not because Sehun does not crave him; he does, Jongin can see it in his gaze and in the movement of his hands. But he has never urged Jongin to reciprocate, his love is the kind from songs of old—sweet and impassioned and untainted by pride or ego or possession. And for the first time, Jongin sees that the Fates have been good to put them together; have been good to _him_ by giving him Sehun.  
  
Perhaps, it is this newfound fondness and the sudden potency of his own powers that make Jongin act as harshly as he does. When he cannot tolerate their baseless scrutiny any longer, he leads Pirithous and Theseus away from the gardens. A strange, possessive sort of fury stirs in his gut, and were he not so irritated, he would marvel himself for being angry on Sehun’s behalf. For a moment before he leaves, he half-hopes that Sehun might try to stop him, in some uncharacteristic show of protectiveness, but Sehun does no such thing.  
  
Pirithous and Theseus follow him blindly, apprehensive but entirely too convinced of Jongin’s harmlessness. They should not be, Jongin thinks, he is not so easily angered—and when he is, he is doubly hard to soothe.  
  
But Pirithous is blinded by his own unshakeable faith in himself, and the first thing he does when the stillness has gone on too long, is to snatch Jongin’s hands within his own.  
  
“I have come to ask for your hand My Lord. You are the youngest of the Gods, and marriage between us would be fair and favored.” He speaks pompously, oblivious to the way Jongin glowers. “Should you agree, I will rescue you from Sehun’s unjust hold. I am sure you are desperate to leave.”  
  
His hands slip up to wrap around Jongin’s wrists, thumbs crawling under the cuff of Jongin’s robes. Jongin studies them for a moment, the way they liberally rub against his bare skin. Pirithous receives the silence as a permission to continue.  
  
“I will save you Dear Light, I know Lord Sehun is vile.” He says, fingers circling Jongin’s forearms lecherously. “The black sheep of the Gods, hidden away where no love nor light may reach him. I am sure he seeks to use you to make up for all he has not rece-”  
  
“Walk with me. Both of you.”  
  
Jongin does not recognize his own voice when he speaks, it is steel.  
  
He leads the mortals down the cliff upon which the garden rests, leads them further into the pits that hold those being punished. The first few are barren, empty chambers full of sand and large black boulders.  
  
“My lord wh-”  
  
“Sit.” Jongin demands, and it echoes eerily in the windy silence.  
  
Once the two mortals have perched themselves onto the stone, Jongin turns to walk away. They do not understand immediately, but quickly the cave is filled with the pair’s confused cries.  
  
“My lord?”  
  
“My lord! We cannot move.”  
  
Once Jongin has nearly reached the top of the spiraled stone, his ascent accompanied by their desperate pleas, he turns to look at the mortals. The both of them stuck to the boulder for all eternity, looking unbearably small for all their grandiosity.  
  
“My dear Pirithous, if we are to be married, you _must_ stay and keep me company, should you not? And your loyal friend,” he continues, glancing towards Theseus, “shall keep _you_ company.”  
  
It is only as he walks back to gardens, placated, that the enormity of what Sehun has done strikes him. He folds in his utter astonishment, leaning against the trunk of an old Oak.  
  
You see, this is not his realm, and for that reason he should not have been able to punish these mortals; that is what the Fates ordained for all Gods. But Jongin _did_ punish them, and that can only mean that Sehun has been true to his word—he has given Jongin his realm in equal part. And the realization floods him with searing warmth, with jubilance. Jongin's heart does not soar for power— _no,_ instead, his joy stems from having a promise _kept_ , and from being finally untethered from the Pantheon.  
  
He scrambles away from the tree with a lack of grace that is unlike him. His remaining steps are hurried and feverous, fingers itching to reach for Sehun.  
  
  
{SCENE}  
  
  
When Jongin had been young, a handful of aeons to his name, he fell in love. Taemin was a mortal, a temple dancer, with willowy limbs and beautiful hands and an easy laugh. Jongin did not tell him he was a God, instead he cast illusions so he would outwardly age like Taemin did. They spent a lifetime in each other’s arms, sleeping and waking together until Taemin’s joints were too swollen for him to dance, and his lungs were too weakened for him to inhale without coughing.  
  
The life of a human is hardly a blemish against the expanse of his own, but the loss left Jongin hollow. The sadness clung to him like a cloak; plants wilted as he passed them, and shadows followed Jongin as if he were siphoning away the very light from his surroundings.  
  
He healed over the aeons he lived after, and he remembers it fondly now, the pain forgotten and in its place only the vague imprint of youthful passion. But he could not unlearn what it had taught him— that all good things it seemed, were bound to end. The realization had been heartbreaking: love was the thing of a singular aeon, but his sadness would follow him for all eternity. It made him fearful and cautious, two things entirely unnatural to him and difficult to bear for that very reason.  
  
These days however, Jongin finds the belief tugging away from his consciousness, like a branch wrestled away by a stream. As Sehun and him lay side by side under a rush of bougainvilleas, he finds himself in an inescapable happiness. He is suspended in it, this small gold bubble of quiet companionship and gentle hands. Sehun will live forever, and Jongin will never know days without him or his company. When Sehun uses their bound hands to tug him closer timidly—ever so respectful—Jongin lets the last of apprehension drain away. Sehun will take care of him, it is a truth of the universe, offered by the fates and kept safely in Jongin’s chest.  
  
But Jongin should have known. Even when it is infinite, time does not stop moving.  
  
Kyungsoo is as sturdy as Jongin remembers, gaze warm but resilient. He does not argue or demand, he knows Jongin’s sense of responsibility requires no convincing. But Jongin can also see that he is surprised, eyes flitting sharply between Sehun and him, back and forth as they note every point of overlap between the ebony-clad Gods.  
  
Jongin must return, he knows this, he will not have mortals starve in his name. But as the Sehun leads them to their meal, the inertia slowly climbs his limbs. It is almost as if he were wading through molten earth, each step involuntary and difficult. Though it is always dark in the underworld, there is peace here, and the air is sweet with the scent of grass and the flowers that Jongin has grown. He will miss it dearly.  
  
How ironic that as they step into the sunlit alcove, Jongin feels as though all light has receded.  
  
Jongin picks at his food, he has too much power to need nourishment, and his worry fills his stomach whole. Jongin is shaken from his dread by Sehun’s hands wrapping tightly around his own. Kyungsoo seems to have finished eating, now leaning out of the mouth of the cave as he traces the path of Yixing’s chariot.  
  
“Would you stay here if your return was not so needed?--Would you spend your aeons in the underworld?” Sehun inquires urgently, “would you stay here with me?”  
  
The answer rests readily on Jongin’s lips, “of course--it is my fate is it not?”  
  
He sees how Sehun’s face falls and elaborates hastily, “but I would stay even if it was not. There is much to stay for Sehun, an eternity by you is hardly an unpleasant notion.”  
  
Warmth floods his cheeks at the relief in Sehun’s gaze, and he looks away. Jongin will devise a way to return, he _will_. He has to. When his tired gaze returns to the table and the ripe fruit atop it, he thinks his appetite has returned to him after all.  
  
  
{SCENE}  
  
  
Olympus is disorienting, its minutes seem slower, and the brightness of its skies is unbearably revealing. Junmyeon is the first to greet him, and Jongin cannot find in himself any of the fury he had felt months ago. It is of no use now, other thoughts preoccupy him. And in the absence of anger, he finds that he has missed them all. Baekhyun waits with ambrosia-stained fingers, and his eyes widen when his touch reaches Jongin’s skin. An understanding dawns in his eyes, and Jongin does not deny it. He is not ashamed, he has nothing to hide.  
  
The pantheon is as he left it, the large hearth, the marble columns, the breathtaking brilliance of its occupants. Chanyeol crushes him to himself, and Minseok leaves a sweet kiss on his brow. Throughout it all, Junmyeon is an acute presence over his shoulder but Jongin is not as troubled as he would have been before. He lets the revelry of the other Gods carry him, drinking mead and leaning against Sunmi’s shoulders as Chanyeol and Baekhyung tickle his sides.  
  
He is happy, and for the first few hours that is the complete truth. But soon after, the ache starts to build. He misses Sehun, and though he will make certain of seeing him again, the dread has not entirely ebbed away. He thinks back over aeon after aeon, where Sehun’s throne sat empty and cold, so unlike the vivid warmth of its owner.  
  
The feeling only worsens when Junmyeon summons him to the center of the room, making a show of placing his old crown upon his head. Discontent pulses through Jongin; he is no longer the God that wore this crown, rebellious and restless and aimless. He feels grounded now, and finds no familiarity in the pristine flowers that make the circlet.  
  
His weariness deepens when Junmyeon pulls his fingers away, and Jongin thinks he will have to retire to Poseidon’s brook for the evening. But the thought is violently interrupted when the doors fly open.  
  
Sehun looks unlike himself. His robes, his hair, his eyes; a liquid darkness against the white of these halls. Junmyeon nearly flies to stand between him and the Lord of Hell, and if Jongin had not been rendered breathless, he would laugh. Sehun could never hurt him.  
  
It unfolds before him and Jongin feels almost removed from it, frozen in place--until Sehun steps close, unbearably close even though Junmyeon stands between them. Jongin cannot stop the gasp that slips past his lips, silky soft and incriminating as he studies the silver in Sehun’s eyes. It is Junmyeon who Sehun addresses, but his eyes stray to Jongin. In the intensity of his gaze Jongin catches a flash of uncertainty--of _guilt?_ \--but it is gone with a flicker of the hearth.  
  
“Could it be-” Sehun says slowly, as if savouring the words “-that you do not _know_?”  
  
Junmyeon does not turn to look at Jongin, instead he walks steadily into the snare that Sehun has laid out. Jongin does not listen to what happens after; he knows what is coming, and he is nearly delirious with how deeply he wants to return to the underworld. There is nothing for him on Olympus, besides sleeping in Junmyeon’s shadow and waking to his gaze.  
  
He is shaken from the thought when Sehun draws him to his side, grip firm but eyes turned away.  
  
“This is not his crown,” he whispers.  
  
His gaze is tender and his touch to Jongin’s hair is exquisite, so much so that Jongin nearly forgets their audience. Sehun’s fingers drag through his circlet, and suddenly Jongin feels the cool press of rubies against his brow, the red sparkling in and out of his peripheral vision. It is strange, but Jongin is certain this crown is lighter, its presence seen and not felt.  
  
There is an answering wail from the other end of the pantheon, and Jongin is almost sorry at the sight of Junmyeon’s anguish. But this is all promised in the Fates’ design, and Jongin is soothed by that certainty.  
  
In a seamless confirmation of the thought, the Fates themselves appear. Jongin does not listen closely, though he should, and it is because he is convinced of his choices already. He watches in satisfaction as it all slots neatly into the sweetest resolution, and even before the light of the Fates has receded, Sehun and him have left.  
  
  
  
Sehun does not say anything as they slip into the shadows, his palm wrapped tightly around Jongin’s forearm. The darkness swallows them whole, and in a matter of minutes they rememerge in the garden that is now so familiar to Jongin.  
  
Jongin lets his eyes drink the sight before him, the trees are still tall and green, and the vines that wrap around them are sinuous and healthy. Flowers blanket the grass and cascade from the branches, and the smell of ripe fruit is suffocatingly overwhelming.  
  
He has missed this, even in the short hours he has been gone. Jongin’s shoulders uncurl, push back as if he were extending wings. He feels as though he could be, feels as though an old, unbearable weight has finally fallen from his shoulders and left him free to fly. This is where he belongs.  
  
With Sehun, he can just _be_ ; he is not a child to be doted upon, or a treasure to be kept hidden. Jongin is an equal.  
  
And he is in love, he thinks.  
  
The thought delivers him back into the present, and he finds that Sehun’s grip has tightened. When Jongin glances at him, Sehun refuses to return his gaze, and slowly the beginnings of worry begin to chip away at his relief.  
  
“Seh-”  
  
“I am sorry,” it bursts from Sehun’s lips like a sob, his brow crumpled in contrition.  
  
“What?” Jongin asks confusedly.  
  
“I am sorry—I am sorry for tricking you,” and before Jongin’s astonished eyes, Sehun falls to his knees, his hand slipping down to twine with Jongin’s and his forehead coming to rest against Jongin’s hip.  
  
“I know it cannot be undone,” he continues sorrowfully, voice guttural, “but I was desperate, I could not bear to see you go.”  
  
And that is when Jongin realizes: _Sehun does not know_. For all the affection that Jongin holds for the God before him, he had not thought to tell him.  
  
He starts from the beginning, his empty hand drifting to tangle in Sehun’s hair.  
  
“I knew.”  
  
Sehun makes a confused sound against his robes, his hold tightening, and Jongin let’s that ground him as he continues.  
  
“I knew that Junmyeon wished to turn me into a tree—to confine me to Olympus for all eternity.”  
  
Sehun jerks away, chin tilting up to look at Jongin. Shock worms its way into all the crevices of his face, and Jongin absently traces the faint lines by his eyes.  
  
“I overheard him too. I was further behind Sunmi—closer to the brook. I saw her rush to meet you, but not before she confided what she hoped to do to another nymph.”  
  
“You-you-”  
  
Though the urge is strong, Jongin does not let his eyes leave Sehun’s. “It was easy to let you steal me away—I cannot think of a worse fate than the one Junmyeon hoped for me,” he cannot stop the way his voice quivers at the thought of it. A _tree_ , stiff and stuck in eternal isolation; unspeaking, unmoving, unseeing.  
  
Even while reeling in his own disbelief, Sehun seems to know, and his hold tightens protectively. The warmth that blooms in Jongin is so fierce that his hands tremble as they settle on Sehun’s shoulders.  
  
“I wasn’t certain then, I was afraid you would be another God that would try to _keep_ me because I let you save me,” Jongin feels the smile that spreads on his face, resplendent with fondness, “but I found that you did not, you refused to even tell me about Junmyeon's scheming. You are noble, and kind, and unwavering with your affections.”  
  
Sehun shakes his head violently, concern receding for a moment, “I tried to—I _tricked_ you—I am the same as them all. I _did_ want to keep you, and I am crueler still, for I have succeeded.”  
  
Jongin inhales the sweet scent of the garden once more, let’s his lungs fill with it as the conversation around them staggers for a moment. Then he drops to his knees as well, reaching to cup Sehun’s chin.  
  
“I ate six seeds—one for every month of the year the fates would have to let me spend with you.”  
  
Sehun tilts backwards, dumbstruck, but Jongin does not let him move far, his own arms wrap around Sehun’s shoulders and pull him back to himself. Sehun only stares, sweet lips parted and framed by Jongin’s thumbs.  
  
“You-you knew.”  
  
Jongin breathes out a weak laugh. He tugs Sehun’s arms back around his waist, and only speaks once his own have returned to Sehun’s shoulders.  
  
“I was _relieved_ when I saw the pomogranate. I myself, had not been able think of any way to prolong my stay or guarantee my return. I am grateful, Sehun, for many things.”  
  
“You have manipulated the fates,” Sehun chides, but his arms only pull Jongin closer. His robes are damp at the knees now, dew seeping into them steadily—but Jongin never wants to be free from this embrace. “Is this why you were so taken by Orpheus?”  
  
Jongin smiles openly, “I told you, didn’t I? There is power in deluding the fates.” He moves closer to Sehun, hands slipping into his hair. “There is happiness, too.”  
  
Sehun’s eyes drift to his mouth, and then up again. “What if they are angry?”  
  
“They have given me what I want, I do not imagine they are too furious.”  
  
It has been a long time since Jongin has been completely honest with someone. It is liberating.  
  
“It’s because they like me best,” Sehun whispers softly. Jongin cannot tell if he jests, but it is not difficult to believe. Sehun is certainly likeable.  
  
When Sehun kisses him, it is the start of a new aeon. This is the fruition of all of Jongin’s own choices, and he trembles with unbridled joy. It is simple to fall into Sehun now that he has no other burden, and no waiting cage.  
  
Sehun kisses down his throat, lips soft and reverent. He tugs aside robe and kisses down his collarbone, tongue laving over where he presses his teeth. It is simpler still, when he rids Jongin of his robes, and pushes into his body.  
  
He fills him perfectly, and the euphoria that floods Jongin, has him curling his finger roughly into the earth, only to then do the same to Sehun’s hair. Sehun is thorough and generous and deserving of every sound he pulls from the God of Spring. It is an onslaught, warm waves of pleasure washing over Jongin until he knows nothing but this love.  
  
When his eyes slip open, Sehun is beside him, holding him to his heaving chest.  
  
“Look what you’ve done,” he says, and they are pressed so close together that Jongin feels the rumble of his voice in his own ribs.  
  
Sehun holds a single magnolia, glowing white and fragrant. When Jongin looks up there is a new, fully-grown tree above them, the air perfumed by the white flowers that drift from its branches. He cannot find it in himself to be embarrassed—he is singularly content, and there is room for little else.  
  
Sehun turns so Jongin is under him once more, tucking the flower behind his own ear.  
  
“The fates came to me once,” he begins, “when I was young and new to this realm and knew nothing but the sadness of missing the world above.”  
  
Jongin hums for him to continue, fingers wandering along Sehun’s sides in an aimless caress.  
  
“There is something they said, and I never understood until this moment,” Sehun’s voice is coloured with wonder. “Seulgi took my hands in her own and told me that I was not destined to rule this realm. That I was meant for greater things.”  
  
Sehun pauses, eyes searching Jongin’s face for something. Jongin blinks back blankly, shaking his head slightly in confusion. “If not you then who?”  
  
Sehun breaks into a breathtaking smile, golden with joy, “don’t you see? It is you! _You_ are destined to rule.”  
  
Jongin’s surprise bubbles from his lips as laughter, “I see, and what are the greater things that you are meant to do?”  
  
He waits for Sehun to laugh, to reply with some clever quip; but Sehun’s face is earnest as he answers.  
  
“I,” he rolls to his side so that his lips are pressed to Jongin’s ear, “am meant to love you.”  
  
  
{SCENE}  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic took me nearly all of quarantine to write and I think somewhere along the process it has become so special to me that posting it feels unreal. I hope n hope n hope u liked it; comments and kudos are love, thank you for reading!
> 
> The title is from the song Big God by Florence+the Machine.
> 
> EDIT: hello, it's me, thank you for reading!! my twitter is [@matchahun](https://twitter.com/matchahun) if u wanna come say hey :) <3


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